Distortion
by YahtzeeBitch
Summary: A story of a boy, who rebelled against his destiny, who refused to be what he was told he had to be. A story of an angel, who raised a human from Hell, just because he could, and just because he knew she would get in the way.
1. Opening

**Hi! Thank you for checking out this story! So first, this is my first story so I hope you all enjoy it! And second, I absolutely love Supernatural and can't wait for season ten, so I'm hoping writing this story will help pass the time! I know this chapter's really short, and I just want to say that the chapters will vary in length, but this is the shortest of all of them since it is the opening!****  
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**All comments are extremely welcomed and appreciated too! I don't own Supernatural, only the OC in this story, who'll come in later!**

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_Opening_

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A story can be written from several different points of view, depending on the preference of the author. While many choose to write from the main character's point of view, some choose a different route.

Having a narrator, such as myself, who appears to have no real connection to the story or the characters themselves is one option. Others write from the viewpoint of an outside character, who actually understands what is going on, and may even have direct relationships to the main protagonists or antagonists in the story. While still others just jump from one character's mind to another every single chapter.

While reading many stories myself, I have come across all of these styles, some of which I prefer over the other. In the story I am gearing up to tell, of destiny, of rebellion, and of sacrifice, I am choosing to stick with a third person perspective.

A story's timeline generally follows the basic chronological order of events, maybe with some flashbacks thrown in every few chapters.

I plan to skip around while I tell this tale: to the past, to the present, maybe even to the future after we have reached the ending point. Characters will die, only to be alive once again in a few chapters time, back to before their own death.

The story itself though. It is one that I was not around to witness; in fact, I had nothing to do with it in the slightest. A story of a boy, who rebelled against his destiny, who refused to be what he was told he had to be. A story of an angel, who raised a human from Hell, just because he could, and just because he knew she would get in the way. A story that no one could see unfolding, unless they were a part of it themselves, because no one really knew all the right details, all the right facts. People say that in life, you do not notice how much things are changing until it's already changed. You look back, and suddenly, you are not a little child anymore. That analogy is much like this, no one really could see how much this action changed the world.

Though this is a true story, which is not just based on facts. I want you to know the characters: their pain, their suffering, their joy, and their dreams.

I hope you enjoy my telling of this tale, of how one angel decided to change history in an even bigger way than anyone could imagine…not even God.

An ex-blood junkie, a high school drop out with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose; they may just meet their match.


	2. Chapter 1

**Here's chapter one! **

**Even though I would love to chill with the Winchesters for the rest of my life, I do not own them. **

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_Chapter One_

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She had turned the volume dial up a notch as soon as he had disappeared into the store. It's not that she wanted to piss him off, she _had _only met the guy two days ago, but she knew he wouldn't be too happy with her touching his 'baby', as he referred to the 1967 Chevy Impala as so often.

She let out a sigh, raising her feet and hanging them out the window as she waited for him to return. Her pistol secured in the waistband of her jeans, she looked around quickly before taking it out. Her tan hand glided over the stainless steel of the Taurus Model 92, before she removed the magazines. She looked them over quickly, turning them repeatedly, before reinserting them into her gun.

She holds it for a moment more before returning it back to its usual place. She always had it on her, more so in the last month than ever before. The pistol that she cared for so dearly was never out of her reach.

The door to the convenience store the Impala was parked outside of opened and Dean Winchester's jaw set when he hears the music blasting. His lips pursed together, annoyed creases settling in on his forehead. He briefly wondered for the hundredth time why he had ever picked her up in the first place.

"Hey!" he shouts out, but the girl occupying the passenger seat can't hear him over Brian Johnson's voice. He walks over to his car quickly, yanking the driver door open and punching the volume dial. The music stops and he throws the bag into the back seat.

She rolls her head to the side to look up at Dean, who glares at her as he slides into the seat, slamming the door behind him. He points a finger at her and she smirks. "You don't touch the car, or anything in the car." He tells her again. She just smirks at him, one end of her mouth lifting upwards. She couldn't help but find his overprotectiveness of the Impala endearing. It was like a superfan defending their home team.

"Sorry, listening to ACDC on a low volume is just unnatural though." Her mouth pulls up into a bigger smirk as she talks, and Dean doesn't give her a response. He puts the car into reverse, backing out of the parking spot and continuing to head towards their destination. "So what? Now you won't even talk to me?" she asks, her voice naturally light and having a slight Southern accent.

"Get your freakin' feet back inside." He tells her.

"M'kay." She obliges, sitting cross-legged instead. She looks to the back seat, pulling the bag he just bought closer to her and peering inside. She grinned, taking an apple from the bag and biting into it. "Y'know," she said, "I bet you don't even remember my name."

She knew his name though. Dean Winchester, it was one that she had heard before many times, a name that was well known in their line of work. She just hadn't gotten around to telling him they were in the same 'industry' yet.

For all he knew, she was just a hitchhiker.

"I don't need to remember it, you're leaving as soon as we reach Boulder, I'll never see you again." She took another bite of her apple, nodding as Dean spoke in monotone voice.

"What if I wanna stick around?" She asked, and Dean just looked at her.

"That's called stalking."

"No it's not Dean," his eyebrows raise when she says his name, surprised she knew it at all, and she just looks out the window. "I could be helpful."

"By doing what? Being a pain in the ass?" She let out a laugh. Her laugh was light and filled the silence that was all around them. "Your name's Trish isn't it?" he asks, and her laughing just escalated more.

"Trish?!" she barks, and Dean's eyebrows furrow together. "God no, my name's Brandy."

"That was my second guess." He defends himself and she just waves him off.

"Sure it was." She finishes her apple, throwing it out the window and watching as it lands in the forest. She pulls her dark brown hair out from behind her head, moving it to rest on her shoulder. As silence filled the Impala once more, her mind began to wander.

Back until she could almost feel and hear the blade being pulled slowly through her stomach, the sound of her skin splitting apart and her own blood warming her fingers as the restraints kept her from saving herself. The ever-present grin slipped from her face, a stony expression replacing it as she stared blankly ahead.

She doesn't notice him watching her at first. Not the first time he glanced over, noticing the silence himself, or the second time, or the third. She doesn't feel his gaze on her, not even when he stops the Impala.

"Brandy." He says her name, but gets no response. Though she feels his next glance, and her blue eyes turn to meet his green. She tries to recover, her grin coming back, though it wasn't really a full smile.

"Yeah?" Her voice was distracted, and she breaks eye contact with him first.

"Where're you from?" he asks, his voice the same gruffness it always was, she found she liked it. Dean continued driving now, his green eyes back on the road.

"Pontiac, Illinois." She says, "It's a-"

"Yeah," he cut her off, "I've been there." Her eyebrows rose at his words.

"Not too many people who can say that." She ignores his rudeness, barely even noticing it. "Grew up mostly on the road though," she tells him.

"Why?"

"My father traveled a lot for his work."

"He still travel a lot?" Dean asks, attempting a conversation.

"Dead men can't drive." She says with a dark chuckle and Dean sends her another glance.

"Sorry." He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, and even ignores her when she props her feet on the dashboard.

"How much longer till Boulder Cassanova?" she asks, stretching her arms above her head.

"Few hours, five I'm guessing."

"Awesome."

* * *

"Brandy." She woke up to Dean saying her name and shaking her shoulder. Her eyes drifted open, finding him standing beside her. "Come on." He motioned for her to get out, so she followed, not taking in where they even were.

It wasn't until she was fully out of the Impala that she noticed they were on the side of a back road. Brandy barely had time to dodge Dean's fist as he hurled it towards her face. She backed up rapidly, away from the Impala and her hand swiped by her waist. She felt nothing there.

Dean glared at her, bringing a gun out from behind his back. "Looking for this?" he asked as he held up her pistol. Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him. "You didn't cover it up so well." If he wasn't so skeptical of her, Dean would have been surprised at the glare he was getting. She actually looked frightening. Dangerous.

"De-" she ducked under him as he moved towards her suddenly, though he twisted quickly, putting her pistol up against her back. They both didn't move for a moment, and he didn't expect it when she reached back and grabbed her gun, turning herself around and getting him to drop it in the process.

She aimed it at his head as Dean drew out his own. "I wasn't going to shoot you." She told him.

"Who are you? Really?" he took a step closer, and she moved her gun so it aimed at his foot. He was wearing pretty heavy duty boots, but she'd bet money that her bullet would go through'em just fine.

"A kid who wants to get to Boulder." She lied to him. She was where she needed to be. She had found him.

"Bull. What'cha running from, the police?" he asked, "Cause honey I'm not the guy you wanna be caught with." His voice had gotten lower, threatening. She just grinned darkly at his challenge.

"I'm not in trouble, just needing a ride. Now you know I've got a gun, let's just keep on going. I didn't cause you any trouble." She pointed out to him, and she had a point.

Normally, Dean knew he would just leave; crap, he would have never even picked up a hitchhiker. He didn't really know why he did in the first place.

"Just to Boulder." She said, and his eyes glanced at the gun that she lowered slowly to her side, keeping her other hand in the air to show it was empty. She clicked the safety back on then, slowly sliding it back into the waistline of her jeans and showing her hands again.

"The gun stays on the seat the rest of the way." He said sternly, "Where I can see it."

"Deal."

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**Hope you enjoyed it! All reviews are extremely welcomed!**


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

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She jolted awake at the sudden sound of metal being slammed shut next to her head. She blinked rapidly, stifling a yawn as she looked up to see Dean standing in front of her, a grin on his face and the silver keys to the Impala dangling from his fingertips. He was already dressed for the day. His dark blue jeans, black leather boots, and long sleeved gray shirt all being donned already.

She had learned that Dean Winchester's grins were not like other people's. Just a slight lift of one side of his mouth to show he wasn't completely mad at the situation. She found it endearing, the way his lips lifted just slightly. He didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, and she liked that about him. Hunters couldn't afford to be like that, to be emotional all the time and give away what they were feeling inside every second of the day.

"What time is it?" Brandy mumbled, pulling down a side of the paper bag he had dropped on the table to see what was inside. She smirked when she saw the breakfast sandwich. Her dark eyebrows rising, she was surprised he had gotten her something.

She thought of when he had first picked her up, barely saying word to her. He hadn't trusted her, and she knew it was good he didn't. In the past weeks, they had grown slightly more comfortable around each other, because she knew he had her back, and she had his.

"Almost nine, when did you pass out?" he asked, pulling out one of the chairs and straddling it, taking a bite into his own breakfast he had picked up earlier.

"D'unno." She said with her mouth full, "Last I checked the time it was almost two, you fell asleep around eleven." She swallowed her food and yawned again. She had been dead tired last night, but stayed up to continue to look into the case they were on. Sleep meant the nightmares would be sure to come, and she didn't want to deal with them. She knew that when she screamed in her nightmares, she screamed aloud as well. Dean had driven twelve hours to get them here, refusing to let her sit behind the wheel for even a second, and he had needed his sleep.

"Find anything?" he asked, taking in the bags under her eyes and disheveled hair. He should have carried her to her bed before he left.

They were working a case in Idaho now, sharing a motel room. They had done it before, worked a case, and Dean found it wasn't that different from having Sam there. Brandy was only a stranger whose last name he didn't know.

"Yah, I actually did." She opened the laptop he had shut just moments before, "You should stop slamming this too, you're gunna break it sometime and it'll be whoever you've made up paying for it."

"Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes at her, resting his chin in his palm. "I'm too adorable for you to be mad at for long."

"Rabbits are adorable and I shoot them in the face." She said coolly, causing Dean's mouth to go into it's usual neutral position. Brandy had gotten used to him in the past weeks. She had never seen him give a full out smile, though she knew when he grinned, it meant something. She also was used to his usual neutral face; he wasn't one to show emotion freely. She looked up to give him a look, and his lips pursed together when he realized she was serious. "Anyways," she said, turning the laptop around so he could see, "each red dot is a site of one of the murders. And if you take all of them and dig a little further…" Dean watched as she clicked on a button on the screen, red lines going and all converging to one town. "Each spot is exactly forty miles away from Bensen." She glanced at Dean, "I'm assuming you know forty is a biblical number."

"Course I do." She nodded, finishing her sandwich and shooting the wrapper like it was a basketball to the waste basket

"Thanks for breakfast, I'm hitting the shower." She pushed her chair away from the table, groaning and then making her way towards her black duffle bag that sat on her still made bed. She opened it, digging around for a clean pair of jeans and shirt. "You know, you could keep researching while you wait. All the vics worked in the same lumber facility."

"You didn't dig into that already?" he asked keenly.

"Do I look like an overachiever to you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Before he could answer, she shook her head. "I ain't one." he let out a breath, watching her disappear into the bathroom and listening as she turned on the shower. She left the door to the bathroom itself slightly open. It was a habit she had gotten into, so they could still talk while one of them showered.

Dean had only met Brandy a month ago, having picked her up on the side of the road. And he barely knew anything about her. She's from Illinois, her parents are both dead, she has no siblings, and she knows a lot about hunting. She hasn't come outright and said she's a hunter, but he can tell. They have done two jobs together so far, this being the third and nothing has fazed her. She can handle any weapon he puts in her hand, she's great in close combat, she can pick a lock like she's done it all her life, she didn't even blink when they took out the last demon just outside of Seattle.

Then there are the things he's beginning to notice. How she zones out the world sometimes, how she sleeps with her pistol under her pillow, hand resting atop it, and how she never showers in hot water. Whenever he goes in after she's used the bathroom to shower, there is never any steam on the mirrors.

Dean pulls his laptop closer, looking over the information she found again. Reading over her research reminds him of Sam, and he buries the feelings down inside himself before they can even surface. He was the one who said they should lay low for a while. Sam was the one who said he wasn't in any shape to be hunting though, it was his decision.

It would be a lie if Dean said he didn't miss Sam. Of course he missed Sammy, he always would. It had just been over a month since he quit and left. He understood where Sam was coming from, he got that part. It was just that now Dean had to go through this alone. With Cas having gone in search of God, taking Dean's necklace with him.

The door to the bathroom is pushed open fully and Brandy walks out. Her dark hair hanging, still wet, around her angular face. Dean looks over at her, closing the laptop. "Ready?"

"Yeah," She says, while securing her pistol in the waistband of her jeans. She pulls her shirt out; making sure the firearm is covered before looking back to Dean. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

"Dean! Down!" She yelled at him, bringing her gun up as she kept her eyes trained on the werewolf behind him. Dean dropped to the ground as soon as he heard her, the bullet flying through where he was a moment later.

The slight kickback was something she was used to, so she didn't even budge. She watched her silver bullet sink into the werewolf, and listened as she cried out in pain before dropping dead to the floor. Brandy felt as though life rushed through her veins, the rush from the kill making a smirk appear on her face.

The satisfaction was what she got a high off of. It was a feeling for her, and it was better than not feeling anything at all. It seemed that nowadays, satisfaction from a kill and pain were the only things she felt.

She and Dean had figured out they were working a werewolf case just the day before, the coroner having called Dean to say that two victims were without a heart. It was smooth sailing from there.

"Br-" The air was hit out from her lungs as Brandy was slammed forwards onto the ground. Her forearms crashing into the wood flooring, splinters embedding themselves into her skin. The air rushed from her body and it felt as though her lungs were compressed as the other creature landed on her back. Stupid, she thought to herself, you knew there were two, you should have been prepared. She rolled quickly onto her back and narrowed her eyes at the male werewolf that sat on top of her.

Claws slashed across her face a moment later, and her teeth ground together to redirect her focus from the pain. Brandy kicked her knee up, hitting the creature from behind, all that she felt was a jolt of pain run down her leg. It had been like kneeing a cement wall.

She heard another gunshot as Dean's mind caught up with what he was seeing. A claw embedded into Brandy's shoulder as dead weight came down on top of her, Dean's bullet finding it's mark.

Brandy huffed as she heaved the corpse off from on top of herself, Dean getting to his feet on the other side of the barn. As it rolled off of her, the claw slipped out from her shoulder, and she felt muscle being torn.

"You okay?" he asked as she stood up, her right arm hanging limp by her side. Two long gashes had been torn on her forehead, both bleeding down her face.

"Peachy," she sneered sarcastically at him, "I just have puncture wound in my shoulder." She told him, raising one hand to wipe the blood off of her face. She only managed to cover even more of her face in it, and Dean was surprised at how calm she was.

She didn't enjoy the feeling of hot blood all over her face, but she was used to it.

"I can drag the corpses out back if you wanna-"

"Sure." She cut him off, her blue eyes meeting his and he nodded. Dean had never found himself attracted to Brandy, and he realized this again now as he looked her over for more injuries. She would usually be his type: clearly athletic, pretty face, great legs. But there was just something else. He didn't look at her like that. He never had, not even when he first had seen her on the side of the road.

She turned away from him, walking out of the abandoned barn, her footsteps staggered, as Dean heaved the first werewolf over his shoulder.

Once she reached the Impala, she opened the door to the back seat, finding the cooler there and taking out a bottle of vodka that was inside.

She carefully stripped her shirt off, wincing as she had to work the cloth carefully out of the hole. She pressed her shirt against the open wound in her shoulder, watching as it quickly changed from light to dark red. After a few seconds, she balled it up, sticking the clean end in her mouth as a silencer and unscrewed the vodka.

She carefully poured the bottles contents out so it ran over her wound, cleaning it out as she bit down on her shirt to keep herself from screaming aloud. She kept a neutral face as she worked, not showing how much pain she really felt. She noticed the blood that ran down her right arm and side, and how the bloody vodka now stained her skin as well. She felt the hot blood running down her face from the claw marks, and knew she'd have to clean those cuts too once they got back to the motel room.

After he finished with the bodies, Dean found her standing there, pouring the alcohol on her wound. The sight made him stop dead in his tracks. Seeing her covered in blood, he felt like he had seen it before. Like he knew her from somewhere and only now was realizing. He didn't know how she knew what she was doing. She didn't seem like the type to know self-first-aid, let alone for puncture wounds. But she looked as though she had done this a thousand times.

It only added to his theory that she had been a hunter before.

"Ready?" he asked, making his way towards her. She looked up at the sound of his deep voice. It was like a mixture of an ocean wave and gravel, you could hear the dominance in Dean's voice all of the time. He was in charge of every situation, and she thought his voice told of that immediately, even when he was joking.

Brandy took her shirt out of her mouth, nodding her head as she began to wind it around her wound, tying the fabric with her free hand and teeth so that the puncture, and most of her shoulder, was covered.

"I should ride in the back, so people can't see." She gestured to her face and body, and Dean just nodded.

"Might be a good idea." He climbed into the driver's seat, Brandy slipping in the back and resting her head back against the seat. She didn't bother putting on the seat belt, wanting to be able to get out of the car as soon as it stopped. "Really, how you feeling?"

"As long as you keep driving, good." She told him, she caught his eye as he glanced in the rearview mirror. "Really. I'm good, just need to stitch myself up a bit." She didn't get a response, though she could see Dean tense up at her words. He doesn't know how I'm so calm, she thought to herself, hell any normal person would be freaking out if they were me.

She could tell by the way he did it that he wanted to say something else. But he held it back, and she was impressed. She had barely told him anything about herself. He had even caught her writing in her notebook once, and when he asked what it was, she said nothing and slammed it closed, tossing it into her bag. He had left it at that, not pushing the subject.

She didn't want him to see the notebook. More specifically: what was on the pages. What she wrote down, the things she drew.

It wasn't like Dean told her everything either. The phone calls he would get, leaving them to have his voicemail pick up. He never told her who was calling him. They only called twice a week anyways.

Brandy pressed her hand flat against her forehead, applying pressure as an attempt to stop the little blood flow that kept coming out of the cuts. She glanced at the bottle beside her on the floor, picking it up in the next moment and downing the rest.

"It'll be hard to do stitches drunk." Dean spoke up from the driver's seat.

"I don't get drunk." She told him, "It's more of a multivitamin now, cleans the soul." Dean just scoffed at her, pressing his foot down harder on the accelerator.

When they reached the motel room, Brandy was out of the Impala before it had even come to a complete stop. She rushed inside, heading straight for her duffle bag and extracting a first aid kit.

Dean watched from the entryway as he closed the door, throwing the keys onto the table. She brought out a sewing needle and a piece of what appeared to be long fishing wire. "You need something sterile." He said, moving to his own duffle bag. Brandy glanced up at him, clenching her jaw.

"This is sterile." She told him, causing him to look up, "I'm not an idiot." She had taken the shirt off of her shoulder now, laying it across her lap as she worked to thread the line through the needle with her hands.

"Here." Dean said, moving closer to her. He held out his hand for the supplies and she just looked at him, letting out a breath before handing them to him. Dean moved to her other side, stopping when he saw her arm.

The wound itself wasn't bad at all, though it defiantly had to be stitched up. That wasn't what had made Dean stop though. His green eyes looked from her bicep to her face, and then back again.

It was the handprint.

The red handprint that appeared to be burned into her skin. It covered most of her right bicep, a full hand spread out. And Dean had seen one like it before, on himself. Though her's was different, it was smaller in size, and more pronounced, as if it had taken more force to grip her and pull her out.

Dean knew what it meant. He let the fishing line dangle, almost dropping it to the ground and his jaw set. His face seemed to harden over, to it's usual face where she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Brandy looked up at him, noticing how his eyebrows drew together, the wrinkles appearing between them and across his forehead as he glared at her. She felt weaker now than she had in the car, and her mouth hung open as she breathed.

"Dean-" she started. I should have told him, she thought, but it's not really something to just say aloud at any time.

"No!" he barked at her, his eyes flickering again to the mark on her bicep. "You talk about this," he said, motioning to the handprint, "and then maybe I'll stitch you up."

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**I hope you all liked chapter three! All reviews/comments are encouraged and extremely welcome!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much to Bad Wolf and Timelords and Bluemnms for reviewing! It means a lot!**

**A big thank you to Bluemnms for pointing out I posted chapter two twice on accident! I really didn't mean to do that so thank you so much for saying something! Also, as for the big time skips between chapters, I'm doing that on purpose. I've read other stories with it like that and found it interesting. Also, I use it as a way to avoid writer's block. If I am not following the direct storyline and get a blank for a while on where to go next, I can just go to somewhere where I already know what I want to write! I am trying to not skip too much ahead though, to avoid lots of confusion.**

**I hope you all like this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Dean or Sam, only Brandy.**

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_Chapter Three_

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"So he quit hunting because-" She started.

"He said he wasn't in shape for it, yeah, I've told you that already." Dean snapped, watching her pack up from his seat at the table by the doorway. He had already packed up his few belongings and threw his bag into the back seat of the Impala. It's not that Brandy had more things than Dean, she had less in fact, he just didn't tell her they were leaving today until she got out of the shower five minutes ago. Her hair appeared black since it was still wet, and she had twisted it before pinning it top of her head.

"Well that's a pretty shitty excuse." She let out a scoff as Dean narrowed his eyes at her. "You can't quit. Not ever."

"This morning was the first time he's called me in three months, so we're going to meet up with him. I could've just ditched your ass and left as soon as he called." Dean told her. Sam had called Dean this morning, saying he needed to talk to him. In person, that part he had stressed several times.

Dean hadn't mentioned Brandy. He had agreed to meet up with Sam at some motel in Minturn, Colorado.

She finished putting everything into her black duffle, zipping it up and then securing her pistol into the waistband of her jeans. Dean watched as she pulled down on the fitted t-shirt until it covered up her gun. He noticed her tense shoulders, and when she turned to look at him, her gaze had hardened.

"You won't do that," she told him, "if you would. You'd be gone already." Her words were just as sharp as his had been. She strode past him, grabbing his wallet off the table from beside his arm. "I'll go pay." She told him, not even looking back at him.

Dean followed her out of the room, checking his back pocket for the room key that was there, just to find it empty. He looked at Brandy as she tossed her bag on top of his and saw the key dangling from her fingertips.

She was a hell of a pickpocket. Better than Dean was.

He knew more about her now than he did two and a half months ago. She's been a hunter for most of her life, her father was one, though she's never mentioned her mother to Dean. Brandy was also in Hell, that's all she told him that night he first saw the handprint on her arm. He doesn't know how she got there, how long she was there, he doesn't know who brought her out.

She doesn't know who brought her out. Or that's what she told him at least.

Dean thought about asking Cas, but his conversations with the angel had been short ever since he went to find God. He didn't want either of them knowing of the other, not yet at least. It just didn't seem like the right time yet.

Dean slide into the Impala, putting in the key and starting the engine. His baby roared to life and he pulled out, stopping in front of the motel's office.

He leaned over, pulling open the glove box and rifling through the various cards and fake paperwork until his hand found his other, other cell phone. A few items fell to the car's floorboard as he pulled out his phone, checking it quickly to see that he had no missed calls or texts.

Dean reached down; picking up the papers and stuffing them back inside. The one card that fell out was one of Brandy's fake ID's. She had gone out one night, after he learned that she was a hunter, just to come back loaded with fake ID's for herself.

FBI, Homeland Security, park ranger, US Wildlife Services, anything really. She kept them where Dean had his now, having shoved them in herself.

Dean closes the glove box back up, turning up the volume on the radio as Metallica fills the car.

Brandy opens the passenger door a few moments later, slipping into the seat. She hasn't even closed the door all the way yet when Dean starts driving. She tosses his wallet between them on the seat, and Dean grabs it, putting it in his jacket pocket.

They don't say anything to each other for the first hour of the drive. Each of them too stubborn to talk to the other.

She reaches into the back of the car, pulling her bag closer and unzipping it. She grabs out her notebook and a pencil, opening to a page and propping it up on her knees so that Dean cannot see the page. He glances at her, not saying anything as she starts to sketch.

She's never shown him her notebook. Though he's seen her drawing and writing in it multiple times. She always puts it away before he can see what exactly she's doing.

Her eyes stay glued to the page as she sketches, her mind easily bringing up the images that haunt her. Her pencil glides over the page, making the jawline more defiant.

Making more blood appear on the blade.

Giving life to the sinister glint in the eyes.

She doesn't look up once as she draws for the next forty five minutes. She doesn't smile, her lips pursing together more with each passing minute. Once she's finished her drawing, she just stares at it for a moment. Making sure it matches the frame of memory in her head. The image in her nightmares.

And then she writes words. Carefully memorized words next to the figure's head.

_You're gunna be just like me. A killer. I just wanna hear you scream. Scream for me to stop, just so I can make you suffer more. You just don't make a sound do you? Think you're strong? You'll break, just like I did, you'll give in._

Dean jumps slightly when she suddenly slams her notebook closed, stuffing it into her bag behind her. He glances over at her. Her hands are in tight fists, her knuckles white; Brandy stares out the window, ignoring Dean, ignoring the world that flashes by outside of the Impala.

* * *

"Sam doesn't know about you, for now let's keep it that way." Dean explained as they neared the motel several hours later.

"Okay." She agreed easily, and he was slightly surprised. He had expected some retaliation, for her to protest at least a little bit. But he got nothing.

They had barely said a word to each other the whole way there, although she had fallen into a restless sleep for a good hour that Dean eventually had to wake her up from.

Her eyes stayed looking out the window, and her eyebrows furrowed when she saw the blonde haired man standing beside one of the buildings of the motel. "Let me out here." She said suddenly and Dean glanced at her. "Stop the car Dean!" she snapped, and he pulled over.

"What-"

"I'll get a room," She told him, "this way Sam won't see me in the passenger seat if he watches you drive up." She lied quickly, but Dean took it and she exited the car. She waited until he pulled away to make her way quickly towards the man.

"Hello darling." He greeted her and she flipped him off.

"Way to finally show your face!" she snapped at him, pissed. She had called him multiple times, waited for him, looked for him. Hell she even prayed.

"I told you I might be awhile, you've been fine, you found Dean." He pointed out.

"Ya, your little while takes a hell of a long time."

"Oh calm down, really, you think you'd be more grateful to me. I did pull you out of Hell." His eyebrows rose as he spoke, his Scottish accent thick.

"Oh yeah, how could I forget that wonderful vacation." She said sarcastically, "Or how you broke my arm when we first met."

The man walked forwards, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Good times, now, how much have you told Dean?"

"He knows I was in Hell." She says, shrugging out from underneath his arm and leaning against the building. "But that's it."

"You left out me?" She nods her head.

"Said I didn't know who got me out. He told me it had to be an angel, that's who got him out. Castiel was the name."

"Oh yes, I know Cas. He pulled out Dean so I figured, why not pull someone out myself?" he laughed and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You never did answer that question. Why me?" She didn't get a response as he looked down, digging in his pockets. "I said why me." She asked again, her voice more forceful. He looked up, his blue eyes shining.

"You did. Twice. Congratulations. I can't tell you that yet though. But here," he said, holding out a silver ring to her.

"I'm not marrying you if this is a crappy proposal." She told him, keeping her arms crossed.

"It's not." He rolled his eyes, "But I found it, and it's Dean's. So I'm giving it to you. You had it on you when I pulled you up, I took it off then. Forgot I had it. But Brandy, don't tell him about me yet."

"Got it." She said, taking the ring from him and looking at it in her palm.

"Well, I have to go, I'll be in touch. Don't get yourself killed or anything." He told her and she shrugged.

"Sure thing." He lifted his hand to snap his fingers. "Balthazar!" she called out before he could and raised his eyebrows in question. "Thank you." He scoffed at her.

"Don't get all soft on me now, it doesn't fit you." With that, he snapped his fingers and was gone. Brandy stayed beside the building for a few more moments, looking down at the ring in her hand. She slipped it into her pocket before walking out of the shadows and towards the motel office.

She glanced over, seeing the Impala parked in front of one of the room complexes. She pushed open the door, a bell ringing from above her head and the lady behind the front desk looked up at her expectantly.

"You got any vacant rooms still?" Brandy asked, her fingers finding the credit card in her pocket.

"Sure do! Though we only have single beds left." She smiled at Brandy, who felt a tight grin come over her face in return. She drummed her fingers on her thigh. Dean hadn't said if he was staying with Sam or in a room with her. She figured he could stay with Sam, since he probably had two beds, and if all else failed she could sleep on the floor.

"That's fine." She said, smiling more at the lady. She slid the credit card across the counter, keeping the smile on her face as the woman looked it over.

"Mr. Scarden?" she asked quizzically.

"That's my husband," she lied smoothly, then taking the ring from her pocket and slipping it onto her left hand. She lifted it for the woman to see. "It'll be seven months together this week!" She pretended to act excited over this fake news, and assumed it worked when the lady congratulated her. Brandy took the key from the lady with a smile, walking out quickly and making her way over to room 16C.

She passed the Impala on her way there, and she tossed the second set of room keys through the rolled down window. They landed in the front seat, and she didn't even look back or towards the room she knew the brothers were in.

Brandy pushed the door open with her shoulder after unlocking it, dropping her bag by the door and then shutting it behind her.

* * *

She felt the shiver go down her spine as the cold water ran over it. She tipped her head back, letting it get soaked until it was numb. She always showered in cold water, she couldn't handle it hot.

Most people think of Hell as some fiery pit where you just burn. But they're wrong. The fire is there, she remembers that part of it. The fire, the screams, and the pain. The endless torture you go through is what most civilians don't get. How they place you in your worst memories.

She must have had to watch her mother die in front on her over a thousand times now. Though it's never easier to watch, it doesn't change anything. Her brother though, she deserved to relive that one.

It's the hot water that scares her. The hot water he had poured over her skin for hours on end. Just when she thought it was over, just when she laughed in his face, telling him that water didn't scare her.

_Oh it will_.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the freezing water hitting her skin. She ran her hands through her hair, letting the water soak through it. She went through the routine of showering. Shampooing her hair, covering herself in soap. Checking the stitched up wound of her shoulder, which was almost done healing.

She listened for a moment, just to double check that no one was in the motel room with her. She had left the door to the bathroom slightly ajar so she could hear.

"What matters most is what I leave behind for you to keep." She sang softly at first, remembering the song her father would sing to her the nights before he left for a hunt. "Yeah, so smile when you think of me." The words are memorized in her head. Having heard them so many times, relied on them. It was a promise that he would come back.

"And though the way we say goodbye. Is not that way that anyone would do. Like a wave out on the ocean. I will always come right back to you." The words died in her throat as it closed up. She finished her shower in silence, turning off the water once she was done and pulling on a pair of shorts and a sports bra before towel drying her hair slightly with the towel.

Brandy stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing her goose bump covered arms with her hands to find the room still empty. She glanced at the clock to read the time of just past nine. It was already dark outside, and Dean had been with Sam for over four hours now.

She guessed he wasn't coming back now, going over to her duffle bag, which sat on the tabletop, and pulled out her book. _Eragon_ was a book she had found in an abandoned house a few weeks back. She had grabbed it without Dean noticing and had started reading it when she couldn't sleep.

She flopped herself down on top of the bed, opening to the page she had flipped the corner of the page on.

She read for a while, getting into the adventure of Eragon and Saphira. When the doorknob clicked, she shut her book, her hand reaching out to rest of the knife she had placed underneath the pillow. Dean walked into the motel room. His eyebrows raised as he took her in on the bed. Her posture relaxed, hand coming back out, away from the blade.

His eyes first settled on the red handprint that contrasted against her tanned skin. The stiches that were still visible in her shoulder, and the long scar that ran down her side, winding around to go across most of her back.

Dean had never seen that before.

Her back and side muscles seemed to almost strain against her tan skin as she had supported herself up on her elbows, one hand still reaching towards the pillow. Looking at her, for a moment Dean wondered if he would even be able to beat her in hand-to-hand combat.

"Didn't know if you'd be coming here or not." She said as a greeting, tossing her book so it landed on the bedside table with a thump.

"Yea, uh, thanks for the key." Dean said, biting his bottom lip slightly and dropping the key onto the table.

"No problem." She pushed herself up all the way, her bare feet hitting the floor, "I was starting to think you were staying over there. You can take the bed." She said as Dean threw his leather jacket over the back of one of the chairs.

"I can sleep on the floor." He told her, but she already had the extra blankets she had found in her arms.

"No." she told him, "You get the bed." Dean shrugged, but didn't argue further. "How's Sam?"

"Fine, he found a case. Wants to do it together, start hunting together again." She had dropped the blankets onto the floor, taking one of the pillows from the bed and throwing it down as well.

She looked up at Dean now, feeling a weight go on her chest. She only came up a little bit past his shoulders. He always forgot how short she was, looking down at her now, her personality made up for it. "You're not okay." She said.

"I'm fine." He told her, but she shook her head.

"Dean."

"I'm fine!" He shouted at her this time. She raised her eyebrows at him, and watched as he walked away from her, sitting on the bed. "You wouldn't understand."

"I bet I would." She challenged, crossing her arms across her chest. Dean glanced to the handprint again.

"You don't have a brother." He told her. She wouldn't understand what went on between him and Sam. She never knew a relationship like theirs.

"I had one. His name was Trevor. I watched him die." Dean's head turned to look at her, standing on the other side of the room. "I tried everything to get him back too. But I couldn't do a God-damn thing about it like you could. So don't you go telling me that I won't understand. Because Christ, I've been through more than you know."

"I don't-"

"Do I look like I'm done talking?" She snapped, interrupting Dean. "You can't just keep everything inside of you. Sooner or later, all that crap that you're pushing down, there ain't gunna be no more left. I see you every day just go through the motions. You check your phone every free chance you have, and when the freaking thing actually rings, you don't have the guts to pick it up! So if you'd ever like to get out of the pity parade you got going on for yourself, the world would really appreciate that."

She had made her way closer to him, and Dean ran a hand through his short hair. Letting out a long breath. "You don't let your family go, because one day, they won't be there anymore and you'll be spending your days wishing you weren't alive." Her voice was softer, and the words rushed out of her. Dean pretending not to see the tear roll down her face, knowing she wouldn't want him to say anything of it.

"Why're you telling me all this?" he asked, not looking up at her, his eyes trained on the floor.

"Cause, whatever the hell happened between you and Sam, that won't matter a week from now." Dean watched as she walked to her bag, grabbing a shirt and pulling it on over her head. She didn't say a word to him as she picked up a key to the room from the table.

She paused by the door, and he didn't look back at her. Brandy opened the door slowly, closing her eyes as the cool night air hit her skin and stepped outside. Something cracked inside her, and she turned, slamming the door shut behind her and letting out a scream.


	5. Chapter 4-Part 1

**Thanks so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! They all mean a lot to me!**

* * *

_Chapter Four-Part One_

* * *

"We're talking about the Colt, right? I mean, as in _the_ Colt?" Dean asked Castiel over the phone. He hadn't spoken to the angel in weeks, and Cas had just called him a few minutes before. Brandy had left an hour ago, saying she was going to go pick up some food for their dinner.

She and Dean had been working together for two months now, working two cases together. Dean had talked to Cas over the phone a handful of times, though always when Brandy wasn't around. She didn't know about him yet, and Dean wasn't sure he would ever tell her. She'd be gone soon enough. It wasn't like Dean expected her to stick around much longer.

"We are." Was Castiel's response.

"Well, that doesn't make any sense. I mean, why would demons keep a gun around that, uh, kills demons?" He heard a loud noise in the background on Cas's end of the line.

"What? What? Did-I didn't-I didn't get that." He said and Dean laughed at him.

"You know, it's kind of funny. Talking to a messenger of God on a cellphone. It's, you know, like watching a Hell's Angel ride a moped."

"This isn't funny, Dean. The voice says I'm almost out of minutes."

"Okay, all right. I'm-I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted down the gun by now."

"Well, I hear differently. And if it's true and if you are still set on the insane task of killing the devil, this is how we do it."

"Okay. Where do we start?" Dean asked.

"Where are you now?" Cas asked him. Dean leaned across the bed to grab his room key off the bedside table. He flipped it over, reading off the card.

"Century Hotel, room one thirteen."

"I'll be there immediately."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on, man. I just drove like sixteen hours straight okay? I'm human, there's stuff I gotta do."_ And Brandy should be back soon_, he added in his head.

"What stuff?" Castiel prompted.

"Eat, for example. In this case sleep. I just need like four hours once in a while, okay?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so, you can pop in tomorrow morning." He should be able to get Brandy out by then, or at least tell her about Castiel. She already knew about angels, she had even taught Dean of a sigil that would zap their asses back to Heaven. Maybe her knowing of Cas wouldn't be such a bad thing. Hopefully it wouldn't be a bad thing.

"Yes. I'll just-" Dean shut his phone, putting it back on the bedside table beside his room key. He let out a groan, stretching his arms forward, and wincing as his back cracked painfully.

They had just arrived in Kansas City an hour ago, after driving all through the night. Brandy had offered multiple times to drive the Impala, but that wouldn't happen until Hell froze over. No girl had ever sat behind the wheel of his baby, and Dean planned to keep it that way as long as he could.

He let out another long sigh. He could close his eyes for just a minute; Brandy would wake him up once she got back.

Within seconds, he had fallen asleep.

* * *

Dean woke up to sun shining on his face through the open window. He ran a hand over his face. "Brands?" He called out, wondering why she hadn't woken him once she had gotten back last night.

Dean opened his eyes, looking at the alarm clock. Which was now broken. He looked down, just now noticing the lack of a mattress on the spring bed he had been sleeping on.

"What the?" he sat up, looking around the room to see it completely trashed, the wall even bashed in in some spots. "Brandy?!" he called out, noticing the other bed, the broken frame and looking as though no one had slept on it in years. Slowly, Dean got to his feet, walking over to the broken window to look over the city.

Or what was left of the city. There wasn't any sign of life that he could see. Just dilapidated buildings with smashed windows or covered in graffiti. Or both.

Dean looked around for his bag, finding it gone, along with Brandy's possessions, which he was sure he saw her bring in just the night before.

He didn't have to open the door to leave his room, since it wasn't there anymore, and made his way downstairs and outside, broken glass crunching under his feet. He noticed the blood stains on the walls and the floorboards. There had been carpet just last night, but now it looked to have been ripped out.

It looked like no one had been in this building in years.

He tried to figure out who could have done this just in a few hours, or transport him to another reality if that's what had happened. One prominent name came to Dean's mind. Zachariah.

The nature that the city was in became more apparent once Dean made it outside. Weeds had overgrown between the cement on the sidewalks, crashed cars just left on the road. Barrels overturned in the streets as well, a lamppost fallen over, smashing the windshield of a car that was parked for the last time years ago.

His head snaps up at the sound of glass smashing, and his pace picks up, making his way towards the first sound he's heard other than his own voice since he woke up. Dean finds himself in an alleyway, a little girl holding a teddy bear close to her chest just yards away from him.

"Little girl?" He calls out. "Little girl?" he tries again.

The girl's hand tightens over piece of glass in her hand as blood drips from her mouth, though Dean doesn't notice. "Are you hurt?" he asks, slowly moving closer. "You know the not-talking thing is kinda creepy right?"

The little girl lets out a shriek before jumping towards Dean, swinging the piece of glass wildly. It catches his arm slightly, and Dean curses as he feels his blood make it's way down his arm. He shoves the girl down quickly, backing away from her as his eyes drift upwards.

_CROATOAN _

"Oh crap." Dean swears as he reads the word on the building at the other end of the alley. A group of people appears from around the corner, their eyes locking on Dean and one of them points at him before they all start charging towards him. "Shit." Dean curses before turning on his heel and taking off the way he came.

He glances behind himself, cursing at the crowd of infected people keep chasing him. Dean skids around a corner, shoving a rusty trashcan out of his way as he runs into it. His mind is a blur as he keeps running, hearing the sounds of pounding feet catching up to him.

He stops when he reaches a dead end, a chain link fence now blocking what used to be the rest of Main Street. He turns around to face the infected, but ducks when a military Humvee comes barreling towards them on the other side of the fence. Soldiers start firing immediately into the crowd that had chased him, and Dean runs, rolling into another alley to avoid being shot. He watches as another soldier jumps down from another Humvee that arrives on scene. The soldier grins, pressing something in his hand and music starts blasting from the vehicles. "Do You Love Me" by the Contours fills the air, and Dean ducks down lower as bullets graze the space just above his head.

* * *

Dean slips under the loose spot in the wire fence, pushing himself off of his stomach once he's under completely. He turns around to read a sign that's posted on the outside of the fence.

CROATOAN VIRUS  
HOT ZONE  
NO ENTRY  
BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND  
AUGUST 1, 2014  
KANSAS CITY

"August first, twenty-fourteen?" He reads aloud. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head while he looks around. He spots a car not far away and jogs over to it, opening the door with some force and hot-wiring it before closing the door.

It takes a little while for him to find the main roadway, but once he does Dean turns on the radio. Static fills the space around him, he shuts it off. Taking out his cell phone, he raises it higher, though he still doesn't get any service.

"That's never a good sign." He tells himself, flipping it closed and shoving the thing back into his pocket.

"Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia." Dean jumps in his seat, glaring over at Zachariah, who sits in the shotgun seat, reading from a newspaper.

"I thought I smelled your stink on the _Back to the Future _crap." He says, his words clipped.

"President Palin defends bombing of Houston." Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports. That's right—no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum, if you ask me." He reads, looking at Dean with a smirk.

"How did you find me?" Dean asks, ignoring him.

"Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late—human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out."

"The Bible freak outside the motel-he, what, dropped a dime on me?" Dean asks, remembering the man who had confronted him and Brandy as they made their way into the motel last night.

"Onward, Christian soldiers."

"Okay, well, good, great. You have had your jollies. Now send me back, you son of a bitch." Dean demands, his voice rising as he speaks.

"Oh, you'll get back-all in good time. We want you to marinate a bit."

"Marinate?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks, "And where's Brandy?" he adds.

"It means that your choices have consequences. This is what happens to the world if you continue to say "no" to Michael. And you'll find her-or not, all in good time Dean. Have a little look-see." Dean opens his mouth to retort, but Zachariah vanishes from the shotgun seat before he can get any words out of his mouth.

* * *

"Bobby!? Bobby I'm coming in!" Dean shouted as he made his way into Bobby's house. His finger stayed trained over the trigger as he made his way through the trashed house. Tables and chairs were knocked over and broken, it reeked of blood and rotten food too. "Bobby?!" he tried again, but got no answer.

Dean lowered his gun as he rounded the corner to the living room, seeing Bobby's wheelchair knocked over on its side. "No." he walked forwards, putting the chair upright, his fingers ghosting over the bullet hole that was through the back, dried blood surrounded it. Dean let out a breath, standing upright again. "Where is everybody Bobby?" he asked aloud.

Dean grinned a bit when he saw the fireplace. "There." He said, walking forwards, resting the gun down on the mantle so he could take out the fake stone from the middle. It was a drawer, and inside is his Dad's journal. Dean finds a black and white photo, looking over the faces.

Bobby and Castiel are there, Bobby holding his shotgun while in his wheelchair. Castiel stands behind him, the angel even holding a gun. They both look older in the picture, Castiel even growing a beard and sporting dirty, torn up clothes.

Dean feels relief go through him when he spots Brandy in the photo. She stands next to Castiel, a hand on the back of Bobby's wheelchair, while she holds a sawed off in the other. Her dark hair falls over her face slightly, though even in the photo, Dean can tell her eyes are bright.

Dean wonders when Brandy met Bobby and Cas. In this picture, they all appear to get along, though as of yesterday-2009-whenever, she didn't know Bobby or Cas.

There are three other men, all holding firearms, who Dean doesn't know. Though they match everyone else's appearance of dirty and crappy clothes. Dean's eyes go to the sign they all stand in front of.

"Camp Chitaqua."

* * *

Dean brings out his gun, releasing the safety as he looks up at the welcome sign to Camp Chitaqua. He keeps close to the shadows and out of view of the men who patrol just inside the fence. He can only see three from where he is, and all of them carry guns. Dean raises his eyebrows as he watches a little kid run out from one of the buildings, holding out their arms and then being scooped up by one of the guards. He shakes his head, ignoring it and slips through a small opening in the fence, catching sight of the Impala.

"Oh, baby, no." he groans as he looks her over from afar. The windows are all smashed in, large dents in her hood and bumper. Rust covers almost every inch of her. Dean stays low, making his way closer to his beloved car to get a better look at the damages. "Oh, no, baby, what did they do to you?" he asks, opening the driver's side door to see the upholstery ripped.

Dean hears the footsteps just moments later, turning, but not getting far enough to see who it is before the butt of a gun is smashed into the side of his head.

Dean Winchester, the one from 2014, stands over his own limp body, looking down at it. "What the hell?" he asks, turning the thing's face to see his own. He lifts the body up, throwing it over his shoulder.

* * *

Dean comes back into consciousness a few hours later, and tugs on his arm, finding himself handcuffed to a ladder in some cabin. He looks up, and his eyes widen when he sees himself across the room, sitting at a table cleaning a gun.

He looked exactly like himself, the only real difference was the hardness in his eyes and the military issued green jacket the 2014 version of himself wore.

"What the hell?" Dean asks.

"I should be asking that question, don't you think? In fact, why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?" the older version of himself demands from his seat.

"Because you'd only be hurting yourself." Dean smirked.

"Very funny."

"Look, man-I'm no shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?"

"Yeah, I know. I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water-nothing. But you know what was funny? Was that you had every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now you want to explain that? Oh, and the, uh, resemblance, while you're at it?" He asks.

"Zachariah." At the name, the older Dean stands up from his seat, leaving the gun on the table.

"Come again?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm you from the tail end of 2009. Zach plucked me from my bed and threw me five years into the future."

"Where is he? I want to talk to him." Dean could hear the underlying note of disparity in his older self's voice.

"I don't know." He says.

"Oh, you don't know?"

"No, I don't know. Look, I just want to get back to my own friggin' year, okay?"

"Okay. If you're me. Tell me something only I would know." Dean thinks to himself at his own request, then a smirk spreads across his face.

"Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kind of liked it."

"Touché. So, what, Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?"

"I guess." Dean shrugged, "Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?"

"It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago." Dean nodded at his words, looking around the cabin. His eyes narrowing at a picture that sat on a table near the only bed in the room.

"Where's Sam?" he asks, and his older self stiffens.

"I haven't talked to Sammy, in-hell- five years now. Heard about some showdown in Detroit, word is, Sammy didn't make it." Dean's mind went back to his conversation with Sam just a few nights back. Was that the last time he'd ever talk to Sam?

He straightened, pulling against his handcuffs as his other self started walking out. "Hey!" he called out, "Where're you going?"

"I have an errand to run." He was told.

"You what? Just gunna leave me here?"

"I have a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an apocalypse hanging over their heads. The last thing they need is to be parent trapped. So yeah, you're staying here."

"You could at least uncuff me." He told himself, "What? You don't trust yourself."

"Absolutely not."

* * *

Dean let out a breath as he finally got the handcuffs off of himself. He threw them to the side, standing up and looking around the cabin more. He walked over to the picture he had spotted earlier, not having been able to see it clearly from the angle he had been at. His eyes widened at what he saw.

It looked like it had been taken in the last year, maybe a little bit older than that. It was himself, his older self, with Brandy.

He had his green army jacket on in the photo, and his arm was slung around Brandy's shoulders, holding her into his side. Dean's eyes were bright, and he had an actual smile on his face. Not a smirk, not some cocky grin. But a real, genuine smile.

He looked happy.

Brandy was different though. Her smile didn't quite reach across her face, though she was looking slightly up at Dean. Her arm was wrapped around his waist, and he recognized the button down flannel she was wearing as one of his own shirts.

Dean shook his head, turning away from the photo and making his way out the door. It was still bright outside, the sun just starting its descent from the sky.

"Dean!" he turned as someone called out his name.

"Chuck?" the man's name came out of Dean's mouth in surprise. Chuck scratched the back of his neck, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands.

"Yeah?" he said, "So, we're running low on some supplies again. And Evelyn says that Amos is getting too big for his shirts, so you'll need to find more for him soon. And- hey, aren't you supposed to be on a mission right now?" Chuck asked suddenly, narrowing his eyes at Dean.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I just got back." Dean lied.

"And you're not with Amos?" Chuck asked surprisingly. Dean shrugged, not knowing who Amos was at all, or why he should be with him in the first place at all.

"Yeah, uh, I'll swing by later. Hey, is Cas around?"

"Yeah Dean, he's in his cabin." Chuck pointed to one of the cabin's across the yard as he spoke and Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"Thanks Chuck, we'll, we'll go on a supply run soon."

* * *

"Cas!" Dean couldn't really believe his eyes as he pushed the beads back from the doorway. Castiel looked up from where he sat in the circle, he clapped his hands together when he noticed Dean.

"Okay ladies, me and our fearless leader have some chatting to do. Why don't you all go get washed up for the orgy?" Dean's eyebrows would've disappeared into his hairline if his hair were just a little bit longer. "Dean." Cas said, standing up.

Is he, Dean thought, is he wearing moccasins?

"Cas, listen I need you-"

"Woahhhh." He was interrupted. "You're not you, not now you anyways."

"Exactly!" Dean told him, "I'm from 2009 so if you could just zap me back with your angel mojo that'd be, why are you laughing?" he demanded as Castiel's shoulders shook, he turned away from Dean, walking over and looking out one of the windows. "Are you stoned?"

"Generally." Cas told him. "I'm no angel anymore Dean. Lost my mojo when the angels left." Dean took in a breath, shaking his head slightly.

"Where's Brandy?" he asked and Castiel's shoulders stiffened. "Cas?" Dean asked again, when he didn't get a reply.

"You didn't ask now you that question did you?"

"No, but I found a picture in his room." Dean explained, "Where is she?"

"She's dead." Cas told him, "You shot her."

The loss Dean felt was like someone had taken away a part of his heart and smashed it into so many tiny pieces that he would never be able to pick all of them up.


	6. Chapter 4-Part 2

**It's been a while since my last update, been kinda busy! Thank you for the favorites and follows! They all mean a lot!**

* * *

_Chapter 5_

* * *

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"You shot her, through the head. She came back from a mission just a few months ago-infected." Cas frowns as he tells the story. "She came to you, of course, put the gun in your hand, and told you to shoot."

The sound of multiple sets of tires on the dirt road leading into camp distract Dean and Cas from their conversation.

"You're back." Cas said, grinning slightly, glad for the change of subject- and he and Dean make their way to the doorway.

Dean watches as the older version of himself swings himself out of the back of the jeep, more people from the camp make their way closer. 2014 Dean grabs two beers, tossing one to another soldier who climbs out behind him. The soldier walks in front of the older Dean, drinking from the glass, a smile on his face. Dean's eyes widen as he watches 2014 Dean put a magazine into his pistol, cocking it before aiming at the back of the man's head in front of him.

He's out the door in seconds.

"Hey!" he shouts out, only to have the sound of a bullet being fired fill the air a moment later, the man dropping to the ground like wet cement. "Hey!" Dean yells again.

"Damn it."

"Daddy!" His head swung around to see a little boy running towards the scene and he felt a weight come over his chest. He had just shot the kid's father. 2014 Dean tucks his pistol away, glaring at 2009 Dean and then scoops the little boy into his arms. 2009 Dean stops in his tracks, watching as the older version of himself carries the little boy in his arms.

"I'm not gunna lie to you. Me and him-it's a pretty messed up situation we got going. But believe me, when you need to know something, you will know it. Until then, we all have work to do." 2014 addresses the crowd of people.

He strides forwards and grabs Dean's shirt, dragging him back towards this own cabin.

"You just made a freaking fantastic decision-you know that?" 2014 Dean snaps at 2009 Dean, sarcasm dripping off his words.

"Daddy?" both Deans look to the little boy.

"Hey bud! This is just a new guy okay? He's me, but from a few years back, you know how Cas told you stories of time travel?" the little boy nodded in his arms as Dean pushes the door to his cabin open. "That's what happened to him."

"Daddy?" 2009 Dean asks, flinching as he is shoved further into the room, the door being locked behind the trio.

"Me, meet Amos, my-your-our-whatever, my son."

"You have a kid!?" Dean watched his older self sit in one of the chairs, pulling the boy up so he sat on top of his lap.

"His name's Amos." He was told and then what Chuck had told him earlier made sense.

"I'm three!" The boy exclaimed, holding up three fingers to Dean. He was surprised how well the boy accepted the fact that there were two of his dads' in the same room with him. He didn't find it strange at all.

Dean studies the child's face, seeing his own jawline, his own hair color. And the kid's blue eyes, his curved nose.

"Brandy." Her name came out of his mouth at almost a whisper. His older self tensed at her name, and the smile disappeared from the boy's face.

"Mommy's gone." The kid's voice was small and he looked up at the older Dean, who wrapped his arms around the kid. Amos looked back to 2009 Dean, his tiny mouth turning into a deeper frown. "It made Daddy's smile go away."

"Okay-wow. Uh, what the hell was that out there?" Dean asks his older self, pointing outside. "You shot a guy in cold blood."

"We were in an open quarantine zone. Got ambushed by some Croats on the way out." Dean gives his older self a puzzled look. "Croats. Croatoans. One of them infected Yeager."

"How do you know?" Dean's gaze drifts to the little boy again, who sits quietly with his hands folded together.

"Cause after a few years of this, I know. You see the symptoms; he showed them about a half hour ago, he was gunna flip soon. Didn't want to trouble a man with bad news."

"You blew him away in front of your own people! In front of your son!" 2014 Dean's brow raises and he looks down at Amos.

"The sick people stay happy if they die before they know." The little boy says, causing a chill to run down 2009 Dean's spine.

"It's 2014. Plugging a Croat, it's called commonplace. Trading words with my own freakin' clone-might have freaked them out a little."

"Look-"

"No, you look. This isn't your time. It's mine. You don't make the decisions. I do. So, when I say stay in, you stay the hell in." Dean puts his hands up in front of him, glancing around the room some more. He notices a second bed, a ratty stuffed bear now sitting on top of it.

"What was the mission anyways?" Dean asks, sitting across the table from himself, who pours two drinks.

"Amos. Why don't you go play with Harley?" the little boy looks up at his father, nodding his head with a smile before hopping from his lap and waddling over to the bed, grabbing the bear. 2014 Dean reaches into his jacket, pulling out the Colt and resting it on the table.

"The Colt?" Dean asks.

"The Colt." 2014 Dean confirms.

* * *

"So that's it? That's the Colt?" Risa, 2014 Dean's third in command asks later that night as they all sit around the table. 2009 Dean sits near the back, Castiel a few feet away from him. The ex-angel holds Amos in his arms, bouncing him on his knee.

"If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it."

"We got a way to find'em?" Risa asks.

"We don't have to find him. We know where he is. The demon that we caught two months ago, he was one of the big guy's entourage. He knew."

"So, a demon tells you where Satan's gunna be, and you just believe it?"

2014 Dean shrugs. "He wasn't lying."

"You know this how?" Risa asks.

"Brandy was all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth." Castiel replies from his spot in the back. 2009 Dean's head snaps to look at him.

"Brandy did torture? You made her-"

"I didn't make her do shit!" 2014 Dean snaps, "She wanted to, did it so I wouldn't have to."

"That's-that's good. Classy." Dean says. Castiel laughs and 2014 Dean glares at him, the ex-angel just shrugs.

"What? I like past you."

Dean tunes out the conversation for a moment to think. The picture he saw, it makes sense now. The hard look in Brandy's eyes. She was torturing demons-he hadn't known she'd done that in Hell-but she was doing it again. She was doing it so he didn't have to at that.

"Crawling with Croats, yeah. You saying my plan is reckless?" Dean hears his older self ask.

"Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?"

"Yes."

"Okay, if you don't like, uh, 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant', maybe." Cas looks down at the boy in his lap, "Your daddy makes stupid plans." He mock-whispers, making the kid laugh.

"Are you coming or not?" 2014 Dean asks and Cas sighs, looking up at Dean.

"Of course. I'll get the grunts moving and inform Evelyn."

"We're on the road, all loaded, by midnight."

"All righty." Castiel and Risa both leave the cabin, leaving the two Deans and Amos together.

"I assume I'm-"

"You're leaving again." 2009 Dean is cut off by Amos, who tugs at his father's arm. Dean watches his older self crouch down to be the same height as the boy, placing his hands on the kid's shoulders.

"Only for a little while. I'll be back before you know it, and besides, I'm never really gone-right?" 2014 Dean speaks softly, a slight grin on his face. The boy nods.

"You always here," he sniffles, tears coming to his eyes regardless, "like Mommy." 2014 Dean nods his head, then brings his son in to wrap his arms around the boy's small body.

As he watches the pair, Dean can't help but wonder how he ever became so-different. Something's broken inside of the 2014 version of himself-something snapped a long time ago. But when he's with Amos, it looks as though he can almost deal with everything else. Like he has something left to live for.

2014 Dean pulls away from Amos, holding the boy out at arm's length. "How about you go and grab some dinner? Then you can bring back two plates for me and this guy?" Amos nods, his blonde hair hanging down slightly over his eyes, and wipes his arm over his watery eyes.

2014 Dean grabs the end of his own gray undershirt, bringing it up to wipe the tears from his son's face. "I'm sure Cas is down there already." This brings a slight smile to the boy's face, and he nods his head.

"You'll be here when I get back?" he asks, and 2014 Dean nods, "Promise?"

"Promise." The older Dean nods his head as he says it, and the boy seems to accept it, making his way across the cabin and out the door. They both watch him hop down the steps, making his way across the camp yard.

"You're coming tonight." 2014 Dean speaks, all softness gone from his voice. "I want you to see something."

"See what?" Dean asks.

"Our brother." 2009 Dean's head snaps up.

"Sam? You said he didn't make it."

"Sammy didn't die in Detroit-he said yes."

"Yes?" 2009 Dean asks, confused. He doesn't get a reply for a long while, but he figures it out himself. "Sam said yes to Lucifer?!" 2014 Dean just nods. He gets up, grabbing two glasses off a shelf and then uncovering a bottle of whiskey. He pours two glasses, sitting back at the table and slides one across to 2009 Dean.

"I couldn't do a damn thing about it." There was a silence, and the older Dean glanced over to one of the shelves in the room. 2009 Dean followed his gaze, seeing a photograph that he hadn't noticed before.

The man in the photograph resembled 2009 Dean more so than he resembled 2014 Dean. "That's from the tail end of 2011." 2014 Dean says. "Just outside Navarre, Alabama. Some guy stopped us and asked if we wanted out picture taken-Brandy had said yes before I could even get a word out."

It showed them both together, Dean's arm slung around her shoulders as she leaned slightly into his leather jacket. She seemed to be laughing at something he had said, judging by the smirk on Dean's face. Behind them was the ocean, seagulls flying through the air.

"How'd that happen?" 2009 Dean asked, and they both knew he was referring to his relationship with Brandy.

"You don't deserve to know. That's between her and me, but that girl-" he gestured towards the picture, "that girl's the best damn thing that ever walked into my life. When I suddenly had nothing left, I realized she didn't have anything either."

2009 Dean shook his head, drinking his whiskey. "She said she had me. That I was the one thing she held on to. You-you don't know her. Don't know a damn thing. But she did the torturing, wouldn't let me. We had Amos almost three years ago; she told me I was better than her. I had to stay for him. That's even how she freakin' died. Went off on a mission I was supposed to do. When I told her about it, she said it was suicide; the area was a hot zone. So she made her own team, and left while I was asleep." Older Dean slams his empty glass onto the table.

"Woke up to her pressing a pistol into my hand, telling me I had to put a bullet through her brain." He pauses, looking up at his younger self-starring him straight in the eye. "So I did."

* * *

Dean starred down at his own body. Sam, Lucifer, stepping on 2014 Dean's neck.

"I like you, Dean. I get what the other angels see in you. Goodbye. We'll meet again soon." Lucifer turns to walk away from Dean.

"You better kill me now!" Dean shouts to him, causing him to turn back.

"Pardon?"

"You better kill me now. Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop." Dean threatens, flashes of all that he's seen going through his brain.

"I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win. So, I win."

"You're wrong."

"See you in five years, Dean."

* * *

Dean is suddenly leaning against the kitchenette sink of the room in Kansas City, Zachariah standing in front of him. Dean's clothes are the exact same as they were moments ago, in 2014.

"Well if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you." He spits out at him, his green eyes narrowing at the angel before him.

"Enough. Dean, enough. You saw it, right? You saw what happens. You're the only person who can prove the devil wrong. Just say yes." Zach tries, and Dean sees a shape behind him, someone slowly raising their hand.

"How do I know that this whole thing isn't one of your tricks? Huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?" he asks.

"The time for tricks is over. Give yourself to Michael. Say yes and we can strike. Before billions die." Dean thinks about this for a long moment, and then shrugs.

"Nah."

"Nah?" Zachariah asks.

"He said 'Nah' douchewad." A voice pipes up from the back, and Dean grins as Zachariah turns around. Brandy smirks at him, and then slams her open bloody hand onto the angel sigil she has painted on the back wall. Light flashes throughout the room, and then Zach is gone.

Dean just stares at her for a moment, taking her in. He shakes his head at her smirking. "Douchewad?" He asks.

"Yeah, I've been hanging out with you too much." She tells him, walking over to the sink, and running water over her hands. "Thought he may have had something to do with you being gone. Isn't like you to leave when food's on the way."

"Yeah, uh, thanks for that."

"No problem," she says, grinning at him. Dean manages a smile back.

* * *

**Reviews are extremely welcome! Also, if anyone knows a good beta, I would love one since I suck at proofreading things! I have the next chapter written so it should be up before next Wednesday!**


	7. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

* * *

**Minturn Motel, Colorado**

* * *

She felt a grin slip into place on her face when the tall man who followed Dean out of the motel room faltered in his steps towards the Impala. Even though he towered over Dean, and had enough hair to make a new living room carpet out of, she could see the resemblance between the brothers.

She opened the passenger door, stepping out of the car just as they almost reached the Impala.

Brandy had returned to the motel in the early hours of the morning, having stormed out after Dean returned from talking with Sam for the first time in months. She and Dean had butted heads, but the few hours apart gave them each time to cool down. Dean realizing that she had a point, the memories of his time in 2014 had come back to him, and Brandy had been back to her usual self after hustling a few games of pool down at the local tavern.

Dean hadn't questioned the wad of cash he had found on the table this morning. The two had even talked it out once he was awake, and agreed that Brandy should meet Sam, neither of them seeing any harm in it.

"Dean-uh." She could hear Sam, the windows of the Impala being left unrolled. Dean shrugged, walking past Sam towards his car and opening the driver door.

"Right. Sammy, this is Brandy. She's a, a friend of mine. Brandy this is Sam." She smirked and got out of the car, walking towards the taller brother and smiling up at him.

"I've heard a lot about you Gigantor." She quipped, holding her hand out for a shake.

"Can't say the same about you." Sam said slowly, sending Dean a look. Dean just shrugged, but knew his travel companion would be the topic of conversation later on. Sam was surprised by her firm handshake, and slowly followed as she turned around and made her way back to the car, taking the passenger seat like she owned it.

Sam's eyebrows shot up when he saw the pistol slipped into the waistband of her jeans. She's a hunter, he thought sitting in the back of the Impala, and she turned around in her seat to face him as Dean started up the engine, backing out of the parking spot.

"So, you back in the job?" She asked.

"Brandy-" Dean started.

"Shut up. I just wanna be friendly." Sam saw Dean roll his eyes in the rearview mirror, a smirk on his brother's face.

"Uh, I guess." Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "I was just given some pretty big news."

"Have anything to do with the douchebags with wings?" she asked, and Sam sat up a little straighter, surprised.

"It did, actually. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." She shrugged, "I'm sure Dean told you about the Michael thing."

"Yeah he did. I, uh-"

"Lucifer wants to wear Sam to the prom." Dean interjected, getting the information he knew she was fishing for out in the open.

"Ain't that fun!" she shook her head, looking back at the road and then to Sam in the rearview. "Maybe I'll be some freakin' vessel for some bastard too and it'd be just like junior prom. Awkward, no one wants to be there, and some people just want the other dead."

"Where the hell did you go to school?" Dean asked with a chuckle.

"I was at the Community then, parents thought having a prom would be 'normal' for us, but no one wanted to be there. Hell, my friends and I left halfway through and stole the silver from the principal's house to melt into bullets." She laughed at the memory.

"Community?" Sam asked from the backseat. Brandy nodded her head, explaining what it was.

"It's like this little town for hunters down in New Mexico. Most of the hunters got kids with'em. So there was a school, town hall, all that shit. I stayed there for a few months back in '96 with my brother." She explained.

Dean already knew all of the information she was saying. She had told him about it a few weeks ago, as they slowly trusted one another more and opened up. Sam's next question caused Brandy's face to morph into a mask of indifference.

"Where's your brother now?"

"Dead." Was all she told him. Her fingers itched to do something with her notebook, but it was in the truck. Dean had thrown their bags there in order for there to be room in the backseat. She resorted to her other distraction habit, drumming her fingers softly over the leather seat she sat in. Dean's worried eyes glanced over at her, and she gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

I'm fine, she thought, he didn't know. "Oh." Sam said, "Sorry." She shrugged in response.

"Where're we headed?" she asked in a clipped voice directed to Dean.

"Bobby Singer's place. Figured he could help us out." Both brothers noticed her stiffen at the name of the older hunter, and their eyes met in the rearview mirror, Dean raising his eyebrows to show he didn't know what was up.

* * *

**Interstate 83, Nebraska**

Dean had pulled the Impala into a roadside gas station to fill up. Brandy hopped out of the car, claiming to go stretch her legs, making her way around back.

She didn't say a word about the fact she planned to not return. But she knew she couldn't go to Bobby's, he knew too much. Too much that she hadn't told Dean about yet.

"You are a danger to Dean Winchester." Came a deep voice to her left and she turned quickly, drawing her pistol and pointing it at the dark-haired man in the tan trench coat. "I would advise you in that shooting me would be a poor and useless task."

"You've gotta be kidding." She growled, realizing he was an angel by the way he spoke. "Are you friggin' kidding me!"

"No. Bullets will do me no harm." He told her, making his way closer. "You are under orders to follow Dean, I cannot let that happen."

"Cas?" Brandy and Castiel looked over at the sound of Dean's voice. He appeared from around the corner, Sam hot on his heels. Both brothers stopped when they saw the gun Brandy still had trained on the angel. "Brandy," he warned, "this-"

"_You _are Brandy McDowell?" Castiel interrupted, his mouth setting into a thin line. He started towards her, and Brandy backed up away from the angel.

"Hey man, Dean and I-" she didn't get the chance to finish her sentence as Cas touched her forehead with two fingers. Her body went limp immediately, falling to the ground.

"Cas!" Dean rushed forwards, shaking Brandy slightly.

"She will be fine." Cas told him, and then turned to Sam, "I heard your prayer." Sam just nodded his head, looking at his brother, who hoisted the girl up into his arms. "She will wake up in a matter of hours. I am guessing you do not know who she fully is."

"I know some stuff." Dean defended himself, "We've been working together for a couple months." Sam's eyebrows rose and Cas shook his head.

"The garrison has been told to look out for her. She is warded from angels now, which is why I could not tell she has been with you."

"Warded?" Sam asks, walking closer.

"Yes, though not in the way I warded you both. Her presence, to me, she feels like an elderly man. Who lives in Pasadena."

"So what, it's like identity theft? But with her soul tracker whatever you use?"

"Yes." Cas nodded his head as he watched Dean slide her into the back seat of the Impala. "Why do you not just leave her?" he asked.

"We'll take her to Bobby see if he knows anything, we were headed there anyways." Dean explained.

"Good." Cas nodded his head once, and then was gone.

"Man," Dean shook his head, getting behind the wheel, "He really sucks at goodbyes."

* * *

**Singer Salvage Yard. Sioux Falls, South Dakota.**

"Boy, what in the hell were you thinkin'! Just taking someone off the road!?" Bobby exclaimed after they had put Brandy on the cot in the panic room. "You didn't have a clue who she was until a few hours ago!"

"It never really came up!" Dean told the older man, who was like a father figure to he and his brother. "She's a hell of a hunter Bobby!"

"Damn right she is son!" Sam looked up from his laptop.

"Dean." He called out, and both men looked over. "She's on the FBI's Most Wanted list."

"I was on that list too! So were you!" Sam shrugged.

"Brandy McDowell: $250,000 reward for information leading to her direct arrest. Wanted for two cases of murder in the first degree, theft, arson, armed robbery, impersonating federal agent, unlawful flight to avoid confinement, mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecrations. Born January 20th 1980 in Townsend, Georgia. Caution is warned, says she keeps an arsenal in the bed of her truck." Sam read off the FBI website, "Updated a year ago. Believed to be killed in a wild animal attack just outside of Mark Twain National Forest. August 3rd, 2008 they found the cabin in pieces with blood covering almost every surface. Her body was gone, appeared to be dragged away by something, but the blood DNA test was a direct match." Sam sits back in his chair, looking to Bobby.

"Sounds about right."

"She was in Hell." Dean tells them, and their heads snap to look at him. Dean tugs down on his shirt's collar to reveal Cas's handprint. "She has one too, told me herself it's from being pulled out. She doesn't know who pulled her out though. So that was no wild animal attack, it was the hellhounds."

"She was down there when you were," Bobby points out, "'bout a month before you came topside." He looked to Dean. "You picked her up off the road in-"

"July, just after Sam left. Ten months in Hell." He did the math in his head. "At least. She was cleaned up when I found her."

They were all quiet for a moment. Then Bobby broke it, getting three beers from the fridge and passing them around.

"You boys ever hear about the McDowells?"

"No, I haven't at least." Sam said and then looked at Dean, who shook his head.

"Hunter family, just like you boys. Stewart and Maggie, they were good people. Helped'em out a few times. Their mother was killed on a hunt when Brandy was only seven, Trevor must'a been five at the time. Poltergeist threw her out the window from a six story building." Dean cringed, and thought of how Brandy must have raised her brother, much like he raised Sam.

"They were on the road then. Wild kids, especially Brandy. Got into a lot of trouble at schools, with local authorities. Kinda like you Dean." Bobby shrugged, "Stewart raised those kids harsher than John did with you boys. I think he pushed'em too hard, that's why they got themselves into loads of trouble, but damn could they hunt. Then one day, Brandy just dropped off the radar. Disappeared. Quit the job I guess. Her folks were seen a few times after, but then they were gone too."

"Trevor and Stewart are both dead." Dean said, making Bobby raise his eyebrows. "She told me."

"She could've been lying to you Dean." Sam pointed out.

"She wasn't." he looked to Sam, taking a sip of his beer before putting it down on the table. "Too worked up about it to be lying. I'm gunna go check and see if she's up yet." He said to no one in particular, turning and walking out of the kitchen.

* * *

**Panic Room, Singer Salvage Yard**

The panic room was something Bobby built in his spare time a few years back, when he found he had a free weekend. A cylindrical room, with cement walls, reinforced with iron, coated in salt, and looking like a first graders art project. Sigils and warding symbols from every culture covered almost every inch of the room. Enochian sigils, pentagrams, reaper traps, and heptagrams. With a devil's trap which spans the entire ground inside the room.

Solid iron doors can be sealed shut with iron bar locks from the outside, with only a small window being able to be opened from within.

The ceiling holds a large extraction fan, below which has a grill with metal work in the shape of yet another devil's trap. Bobby was nothing if not prepared, and even painted a devil's trap on the ground outside the door.

Bobby was prepared though, putting in a cot and a bed which folds up against the wall. Two desks, two chairs, a mirror, and a bookshelf were also put in the room. All extra furniture he had found not serving a purpose in his home.

Other things, such as a transistor radio, Bobby had to go out and buy. Standing out, among everything else, is the poster of Bo Derek from the movie "10".

Bobby claims he isn't a fan of the film though, just a poster he found in the back of one of the broken down cars that had been dragged in.

According to Sam, the room smells like a combination of whisky and _Old Spice_.

Only two people occupy the room as of now. Dean, running a hand through is short hair as he watches the other person, Brandy. His shoulders hunched over, he wishes he hadn't left his dad's old jacket upstairs, the room being cooler than the rest of the house. Dean tugs slightly on the sleeves of his brown Henley.

He had been sitting in the panic room for almost twenty minutes, waiting for her to come to. Strangely, he didn't feel as creepy as he thought he should've watching her as she was unconscious. She looked younger when she slept, more like the twenty eight year old she really was.

The girl he watches remains still. Her dark hair covering one of her eyes and falling down the side of her jawline. Her chest rises in a steady up-down rhythm, reminding Dean that she's not dead, and she has to wake up at some point.

It's barely noticeable to anyone else, but Dean sees it. The slight pause in her breathing, just for a moment before it goes back to the steady rise and fall. He's known her long enough to recognize the signs of when she's actually awake. She's feigned sleep multiple times when they share a motel room, more so the nights after he's brought up the fact that she doesn't sleep much.

Dean knows she's pretending now, because she doesn't know where she is. He knows she's trying to figure it out, seeing out it smells, how it feels. He could see her body go stiff, and that was something she couldn't make go away.

"You've been lying to me." Dean's voice is rough, and the first thing she heard when she woke up. Brandy hadn't even opened her eyes yet, but he knew.

Figuring that feigning sleep would be futile, Brandy let her eyes slip open, finding Dean sitting by the bed she was on. Her eyes drifted around the cement room, taking in the wooden desk and chairs, the metal bed she was on, the different warding signs and sigils that were spray painted onto the walls.

"Huh?" She asked, her throat slightly dry, "Where am I?" she remembered running into the angel out behind the gas station, but after that? Nothing.

"Bobby's." Dean told her, and she let out a groan, turning her head so her face was buried into the pillow.

"Shit." She swore and heard Dean let out a snort.

"Yeah," he said, drawing out the word and crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in the chair. "You see, it's amazing how much you think ya know a person. But Cas was pretty concerned about you, and Bobby filled us in about your little family issues. The FBI website told us a lot too. Credit card fraud, mail fraud, armed robbery; those I could swing with. But two accounts of first-degree murder? Kinda a setback."

Brandy let out a sigh, pushing herself up and sitting cross legged on the bed. She pushed her dark hair out of her face and lifted her chin, looking Dean in the face. "Shapeshifter." She explained. "Bitch used my face and then murdered a couple people. I've heard you've dealt with a similar situation." She shot back at him, giving him a tight smile. "As for the other shit. I haven't lied to you, not once. I just didn't tell you everything."

"That's called lying." Dean told her.

"That's called playing it smart, and if you had half a brain, you'd know that." She should've seen it coming, she knew that, but still wasn't fully prepared as Dean launched himself at her. He tackled her off of the bed and they both hit the cement floor with a loud smack, Brandy's back taking the most force. Dean held his hand around her throat, glaring down at her grinning face.

Within moments, her leg was hooked around his midsection and she turned, flipping them over so that she was on top of him, the heel of her palm pressed against his chin, keeping his mouth closed. "So you learned my last name. How does that change anything about how you treat me? I'm still the exact same person I was fifteen hours ago. Nothing's changed. You still don't know half of it." She released him then, getting to her feet.

"Then maybe I shouldn't trust you."

"You shouldn't, but that doesn't mean you don't. You still know I've got your back." She smirked at Dean. "So," she asked, sitting down in one of the chairs, "how long you boys gunna keep me locked up?"

"Maybe a day or so. I'm sure Bobby'll wanna talk to you." Dean said tightly, not denying what she said. He pushes himself off of the floor, wincing as he shoulder ached slightly. He rolled it forward, working through the pain and watching as Brandy walked around the room, looking over the walls. Her eyebrows shot up at the Bo Derek poster.

"Bobby Singer and I haven't spoken to each other in, hell, eleven years." She shook her head in disbelief.

"He says you just kinda dropped off the radar." Dean tells her. "Stopped the job."

"I got _better_ at the job." She tells him, crossing her tan arms across her chest. "Ain't no one gunna find me if I don't want'em to." Dean lets out a short laugh.

"I can believe that one." He says, "Though if you haven't talked to Bobby in such a long time, what were you planning on saying once we got here?"

"Wasn't planning on getting here." She tells him and his eyebrows rise.

"You were going to ditch me?"

"I was on my way out when I ran into your little guardian angel."

"Yeah? Cas tells us you got some weird warding crap going on with you. Care to share?"

"Not really-"

"Cause see," he interrupts, "I'm thinking you do know who got you out of Hell. You sure looked surprised when Cas found you, like you knew you were warded. And the only thing that can do that to a person is an angel. So I'm going to go, leave you here, and when I come back you're gunna tell me."

"What if I really don't know?" she asks as Dean stands up, making his way towards the door.

"You know." Dean says, letting himself out and locking the door shut behind him.

"You're a real asshole Winchester!" He ignores her as she calls out to him, making his way up the creaky wooden stairs.

"She's awake." He announces as he plops down onto the couch in Bobby's living room.

"So we hear." Bobby rolls his eyes and Dean looks over at Sam, who sits hidden behind his laptop.

"Find anything?"

"Yeah, there're pictures of her brother and dad. On wanted websites. Brandy goes AWOL around the time Bobby said she disappeared. Her brother and dad are seen a few times though. The brother disappears eight years ago, the dad just a few months after.

"She says she hasn't seen you in eleven years Bobby." Dean says, "You ever see any of her family since?"

"Nope, she was just eighteen last I saw'er. She and that brother of her's stopped by for information on shapeshifters." Bobby takes a sip of whiskey from the glass in front of him. "Their daddy wasn't with'em." No one says anything for a few minutes.

The room is silent except for Sam typing away, and Bobby setting his glass down occasionally.

Down in the panic room, Brandy laid down on the metal bed. The mattress was thin enough that she could feel the cool metal on her skin. She stared up at the fan, watching the panels spin around and around. Before she knew it, she was drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Screams surrounded her, flashes of red-hot fire appeared periodically in her vision. The sounds of agony that filled her mind made her want to cover her ears, but she couldn't. Not with her wrists bound in chains.

Her eyes were feral as she looked around, her mind not coherent any longer after decades of torture. Her pupils dilated as she suddenly felt the pain rip through her entire body. White, hot, searing pain stemming from her lower back.

"What's a matter?" A deep voice asked from behind her, fake concern lacing each word. "That hurt a little?"

The blade was twisted, sending waves of agony up her spin, through each of her limbs. She could feel every ache, every acute jolt, running from her spine, out to her fingertips and toes.

The blade appeared in her peripheral vision, her torturer still not showing his face. She knew his face though, had seen it hundreds of times, he just knew it scared her more when she couldn't see him. When anyone was behind her.

He ran the blade across her face, blood running down her cheeks, and then down her forehead. Into her eyes and seeping into her mouth. She kept her jaw clenched, mouth shut, as he carved her cheek away from her face.

Her stomach twisted in on itself when she saw it hit the cement floor before her.

And then her mouth was being pried open, and she finally caved as he pushed the blade past her teeth, the serrated metal cutting through the back of her throat. A scream finally past her lips and he laughed behind her.

She kept screaming, finally finding her voice in the Pit.

* * *

"There's a simple solution to your problem boys." Bobby was saying. Dean and Sam had told him everything. About them both being vessels for Michael and Lucifer, about the plan the archangels had for them both. Bobby looked at them both from under his ball cap. "Don't say yes."

"But-" Dean was cut short by a blood-curdling scream that came up from the basement. The three all glanced at each other when it stopped.

"That came from the panic room." Sam said slowly, the mens' eyes all drifting to the door that lead downstairs. Another scream sounded, louder and more intense than the first, and Dean was out of his chair before it even stopped.

His feet pounded down the wooden stairs, Sam hot on his heels, as she screamed again. "Brandy!" Dean called out, sprinting and unlocking the door.

He opened the door to see her on the metal bed, her body twitching rapidly and sweat covering her whole body. She opened her mouth, and the boys had to cover their ears as she screamed.

Sam paused, remembering the same exact way Dean would have his nightmares in those first few months back from Hell. He would start twitching, sweating, and then Sam would wake him up before it got too bad.

He guessed this was how bad they got.

"Brandy?" Dean had made his way over to her, one hand on the side of her face, the other on her shoulder, trying to hold her still. "Brandy! Wake up!" He yelled at her, shaking her slightly.

Her eyes flew open, and she saw his face. It sent her reeling backwards, letting out another scream, and kicking out with her leg. She caught Dean in the gut, causing him to stumble backwards, hands clutching his stomach.

Her mind went into overdrive at the feeling of the metal against her wrists and she jumped off the bed, eyes wide as she scanned the room. She passed over Sam, her eyes locking on Dean, who slowly walked closer, his hands up.

"Brandy, calm down." He said in a low voice.

"No!" She screamed, "Get away from me!"

"Dean." Bobby warned, seeing the fear in the girl's eyes. She was afraid of Dean, terrified out of her wits. "Maybe you should listen to'er."

"Brandy, it's fine." He ignored Bobby, moving closer.

"I just want it to be over!" she yelled, "Just stop!" She let out a surprised yelp when Sam came up from behind her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her arms so she couldn't hurt herself or him.

"You're awake, and you're fine. Dean's not gunna hurt you." Sam spoke quickly and quietly into her ear, covering her mouth with his hand as she tried to yell again. "You need to calm down." He told her. Her blue eyes stayed locked on Dean's face, then to his open hands.

They were empty. No blade, no gun, no mace.

Dean couldn't understand what was happening. Why she was so afraid of him. Though slowly, her breathing got slowly, she stopped shaking, and Sam let her go. The younger Winchester backed away from her, and she ran her hands through her hair, taking deep breaths.

"Sorry." She breathed, coming back to her senses. "Sorry." She repeated, "I-I need a drink."

* * *

**Thanks so much for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! They all mean a lot and I love it when you tell me what you think so far!**


	8. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

* * *

**Singer Salvage Yard, Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

When Brandy was thirteen, she got sent to juvie for the first time. She didn't know it yet, but she'd go twice more before her seventeenth birthday. Brandy doesn't even remember what she did to end up there now, all these years later.

But what she does remember is the other kids she was with. Being one of the only girls, she got picked on. Though that only lasted through the first week of her five-month service. The court had decided on three, though after getting into multiple fights after sticking up for herself, they extended her sentence to five.

She had fit in with kids there, playing cards, eating half-cooked meals. It hardened her up, prepared her to be a better hunter in the future. Brandy learned how and when it was best to mask your emotions, deciding later on in life that all the time was the right time.

Her brother would say the latter isn't true, and that's what put so much weight on his sister's shoulders. She never let anyone see just how much she was hurting. How much she had to carry, or deal with. It was only in the extreme situations when she couldn't keep up her façade of an arrogant teenager.

Given, she was an arrogant hunter, but she had good reason. She was one of the best. But she was rarely stupid, Brandy thought through her actions. She'd give anything up for the people she cared about. She'd give her life, her soul, for those she loved.

It was a result of the one selfish act she committed when she was just twenty-four. An action that came back to haunt her after Trevor's death. No cross-roads demon would bite, or even hear her out when she tried to offer her soul.

"You can't claim a soul that's already sold" they'd tell her. Then she'd exorcise them, send them back to Hell, and summon another just a week later. Brandy only tried for two months, realizing she couldn't do anything at all, and just hunted more creatures.

Six years later, at the end of her contract, the hellhounds came to collect her soul. And she didn't make a sound as she was ripped to shreds like a flimsy chew toy.

Now, after downing a bottle of Jack Daniels in less than five seconds, Brandy begs the three men to let her sleep in one of the bedrooms upstairs. She wouldn't say it aloud, but she hated the panic room now. She was afraid of it even. All she told them was that she thought it was too stuffy.

So they put in her the bedroom right at the top of the stairs, so they'd be able to hear the door open if she tried to leave.

Brandy wouldn't look Dean in the eye either, she stayed a few feet away from him as they had led her up the stairs, her body shaking still from her nightmare. Dean had pretended not to notice the tear that went down her face as she walked slowly towards the bed, Bobby closing the door to the room behind her.

And it's Bobby who comes back into the house almost two hours later, Brandy's black duffle bag in hand, and tosses it on the floor in front of Dean.

"You ever look through this?" He asks Dean, who looks at the older man with raised eyebrows.

"No." Dean tells him, "I stayed out of her stuff."

"Well start looking boy." Dean rolls his eyes behind Bobby's back, but pulls the bag into his lap regardless, zipping it open and peering inside.

"Nothing's going to jump out and bite you Dean." Sam teases from across the room, watching his older brother just stare inside, not touching anything. "Hopefully." He adds.

"I know!" Dean defends himself. "Bitch." He mumbles under his breath.

"Jerk." Sam retorts, and Dean ignores him, reaching into the bag and starting to pull out varies articles of clothing. He throws her short and long sleeved t-shirts on the floor beside him, her multiple pairs of jeans following. They all become unfolded as he throws them down, and soon he finds the weapons she keeps in the bag.

Her pistol, her sawed off, three knives with various blade lengths, ammunition, extra magazines. Dean knows she keeps even more, along with his own arsenal, in the back of the Impala. A bottle of her 18-in-1 shampoo hits the ground next.

On the bottom of the bag, and the last item inside, Dean finds the green covered notebook he's seen her writing in only a handful of times.

"What's that?" Sam asks from his seat, leaning forward slightly.

"I don't know, she'd always put it away whenever I'd try to look." Dean tells him, flipping it over and finding the back cover empty, no words written anywhere on the outside. Bobby walks back into the room, leaning in the doorway, and Dean slowly opens up to the first page.

'_August 18__th__, 2008.' _Dean reads the heading that is barely legible, the handwriting scrawny and looking as though it was written by a third grader or someone who's hammered.

'_I'm back and alive. I have no idea how it's possible, but it's been eleven months since I first went down to the Pit. The only sign I've found is a hand mark that seems to be branded onto my skin. Found food and water in town nearby, someone buried me in the woods near Lawrence, Kansas. I'm assuming it was Charlie.'_

Dean's eyebrows pull together, and he then flips the page. A scene he knows all too well greets him.

It's a view from being on the rack in Hell. The chains that crisscross through nowhere. The flames that surround everything. She's gotten every detail, and even though it's black and white, he can see how terrifying it is. Depictions of Hell fill the next three pages, front and back. The corridor that runs between the cells, a view from inside one of the torture chambers.

'_August 22th, 2008.' _Another entry she's done. _'Now I know. It makes sense.' _That's all she's written, leaving the rest of the page blank.

'_August 30__th__, 2008. I found him.' _Dean thinks back, remembering the day he picked her up from the side of the road.

"She was looking for me." He says it aloud, and Sam stands up, walking over to read over his shoulder.

"Man, that's strange." Dean rolls his eyes at Sam.

"You're telling me." He shakes his head, turning to the next page. Dean nearly drops the notebook to the floor, Sam catching it as Dean stands up suddenly, hands running through his hair and pacing the room like a caged animal for a few steps before going back to look at the picture again.

"Is that-" Bobby, who's made his way over now, can't find the words to finish his sentence.

"Yeah." Sam already knows his question, and Dean stays silent.

Dean looks down at his own face, carefully drawn onto the page. It's exact in his face, the shape of his jawline, his eyes, his mouth. She's even gotten the look in his eyes. A wild, almost feral glint is there, his lips pulled up in a smirk.

In his hand, he holds a knife, blood dripping off of the blade. Behind Dean, you can see the door leaving one of the torture clambers. The eerie glow coming from the little light provided in the cell. Water seeps from some unknown source into the room, covering the floors, a rat is drawn scurrying across. Though Dean is the scariest thing in the picture. A cart next to him, loaded with different blades, scalpels, maces, axes, cartons of unknown liquids that Dean knows to be boiling water and ammonia, all lined up and ready for use.

Dean appears to be wiping the blood from the knife with his bare hand in the picture, watching whoever he is torturing while he does so, his hair almost hanging in front of his eyes.

Words are written, the handwriting neater now, around the drawing, filling in the rest of the page.

_You're gunna be just like me. A killer. I just wanna hear you scream. Scream for me to stop, just so I can make you suffer more. You just don't make a sound do you? Think you're strong? You'll break, just like I did, you'll give in._

"I'm gunna be sick." Dean says suddenly, remembering it all, and getting up from the chair. He quickly strides to the kitchen, retching into the sink. "Oh god." He rests his forehead on the cool metal, Bobby coming up behind him while Sam continues to look through the notebook.

Sketches of his older brother staring back at him. Page after page of Dean torturing, of close ups of him, bringing a knife close, swinging a mace, smirking with an axe in his grip. Words-quotes-Sam figures, are written along the pages as well.

_Why don't you just scream? They never cared about you. No one misses you back topside, I hope you know that. I'm not ever going to stop. I'm just getting started. _

And then two sketches in particular really catch Sam's attention. They're still of Dean, but he's just sitting on the ground. Not holding any weapons, not punching her, not whipping her. He just sits, by the looks of it across from her. His hands folded in his lap.

"I knew she looked familiar Bobby!" Dean says exasperated. "I tortured her! I tortured her in Hell!" He runs a hand down his face, Bobby standing awkwardly off to the side. "How can she even stay near me?" Dean asks quietly, under his breath so Bobby can barely hear.

"Dean." Sam calls out. "They aren't all bad." This makes Dean raise his head. "You're just sitting here in some." Dean shakes his head as he walks over, looking over Sam's shoulder.

"I was watching her heal. In Hell, wounds don't last long. Alastair, he-he wanted me to report as soon as she broke." Dean's words get choked up slightly in his throat, the memories flooded back that he's pushed back behind a mental wall for so long. "I got topside before that happened."

Sam flips the page, the last one that's filled.

_Dean Winchester has been saved_

The picture it's written over in dark, bold lettering, just shows her view from the rack, with a torture cart in front, and no one in the room.

* * *

**Singer Salvage Yard, Sioux Falls, South Dakota: One Week Later**

* * *

Brandy occupied the couch under the window, sipping from the cold beer in her hand while she watched Bobby scan through one of his old books on demonology.

It had been a week since her arrival, and after finding out Dean had tortured her in Hell, and affirming she was of no threat, she was allowed free reign in the Singer household. She wasn't helpful in research, per say, which a lot was being done of, but she wasn't too much of a distraction either.

Bobby and Sam had been fast at work, spending long hours scouring the internet and all sorts of books for all they could find on the sixty-six seals to Lucifer's cage. Brandy was relaxing, alternating between downing Bobby's liquor cabinet and working on her truck.

The older hunter had surprised her by showing her it was in his possession three days before. It was beat up, totaled through and through since the last she drove it she was going crazy while being hunted by hellhounds and crashed it into a tree. Rolling over on its side down a hill hadn't helped the black 1979 Chevy Silverado much either.

Bobby had explained how her friend, Charlie Huntington, had found it and towed it over, leaving it without an explanation at all just a few months after her death.

In response to Dean's offer to help fix it back up, Brandy had only asked where a toolbox was and set to work herself. She had spent that night lying in the bed of her truck, just gazing up at the sky.

Dean had spent the past few days trying to figure out what he should do. He helped research, tried to at least, but didn't get very far. The thoughts and memories of torturing Brandy down in the Pit kept creeping into the forefront of his mind, and no amount of alcohol or random hook-ups seemed to be able to get it out of his brain.

Now, he had had enough of it.

"Hey Brandy!" Dean's voice carried inside the house from where he stood on the back porch. Her head came up slightly, lowering her beer. Her lips pursed together, this being the first time Dean directly addressed her since they had arrived at Bobby's.

"What?" She called back.

"I think your fuel line's snapped again!" Dean lied, and then turned, letting the screen door slam shut behind him as he made his way through the yard towards where her truck was.

"You've got to be shitting me." She swore, setting down the drink roughly and getting up, pushing sleeves of her blue shirt up past her elbows. "I just replaced that yesterday." She strode out the back door, not bothering to catch it so it wouldn't slam, and earning an annoyed grunt from both Sam and Bobby.

She saw Dean leaning on one of the many totaled cars in the salvage yard, near her truck, and her eyebrows rose. "You messing with my truck?" she accused, walking closer.

"Nope." He smirked, popping the 'p', "Nothing's wrong with it at all actually. We need to talk though."

"You know," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest, "You could have just said that."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have come out." Dean got no response. "How did you stand being with me?" he asked her and she let out a sigh, knowing what he was talking about.

"You in the Pit," she told him, leaning beside him on the car now, "and you now," she elbowed him softly, "those are two different people."

"No, I'm still me, you don't-"

"If you say I don't understand, I will shoot through your skull while you sleep." She cut him off, glaring. "It's all up here." She said, tapping her own head. "I know it is, every second from down there. There aren't words for what we saw, what we _did_. But I understand, and you understand. Things are different in the Pit, I was on the rack for sixty years. I know you did what you had to, and I don't hold a thing against you."

Dean shook his head, not able to believe the words coming out of her mouth. "Alastair says hey, by the way." She told him with a smirk, making him laugh. "If it's any consolation, after you went topside…well. I'd take your torture any day over that."

"Nice to know." Dean said, grinning, "Kinda kinky."

"Shut up asshole." She snapped at him, a grin on her face regardless. She leaned forward off of the car, making her way to her truck and getting down on the creeper and rolling herself underneath the vehicle. "Sure I'm wary of you sometimes, but I'll deal." She told him. "You know, you could make yourself useful and get to work under her hood." She spoke up loudly so he could hear her, and changing the subject before they could really have a long conversation on their time down under. She wasn't ready for that, wasn't mentally prepared to have a full out chick-flick share your feelings with the class session with Dean about Hell. He didn't need to know everything, not yet at least, just that she didn't hold anything against him personally.

A grin came onto Dean's face, and he grabbed a rag and wrench out of the toolbox that was left by her feet.

* * *

**Thanks so much for all the reviews and favorites and follows! They all mean a lot! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	9. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or Dean, or Sam, or anything involved except for Brandy.**

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

* * *

**Just outside Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

After another three days of researching the sixty-six seals to see if there was a way to reverse them, Sam and Bobby came to the conclusion there was no possible way. As of right now, they had no idea or inclination on how to shove Lucifer back into his cage.

All they knew was that the cage was still open.

So to get out of the house that was filled with angst and an overall depressing mood, Brandy had been hard at work on her truck, which she now declared fit for the road.

"Hey! Dean!" she yelled through the house, her head stuck inside through the doorway. Her hair was pulled up and back, some strands still hanging around her face. Her gray t-shirt was covered in grease, as was the rag she held bunched up in her hands. Her jeans had a few black streaks on them as well that she really didn't give a shit over. Around her neck hung a chain of silver, at the end of which she kept Dean's ring that she had been given just a few months ago. The chain was long enough that even when she ran, the ring did not become visible. "Dean!" she called out again, being rewarded with the sound of his heavy footsteps tramping their way down the wooden stairs in Bobby's house.

"What do you freakin' want?" He asks as he comes into view. His hair was a mess, and she assumes he was taking a nap. She almost feels bad for waking him up, but can't find it in herself to feel bad over the excitement of having her truck fixed. Dean rolls his eyes, running his hand through his short hair, rubbing his eyes with the other.

"Wanna go for a ride?" she asks, "I finished it up." Dean's eyebrows go up at the news, impressed that she's done so quickly and he nods.

"Sure, just let me grab my jacket, you do know it's supposed to rain today right?" he asks, eying her short sleeves.

"Yeah, whatever, hurry up!" she tells him, not really listening, then turning and making her way back down the steps and over to her truck. She couldn't bring herself to fix it completely, leaving a dent in the driver door, the coins in the heater, and the little plastic dinosaur shoved in the ashtray.

Her dog tags still hung from the rearview mirror, just where she had left them that day she died a little over a year ago. Dean's hand comes up to see them as he climbs in the passenger seat a few moments later, sending her a look to ask what they're for. "My dad made me have them, in case I was found mutilated or something." She explains. "I just keep'em in the truck now. Haven't worn them around my neck in years."

"Cool." Dean comments shortly, still not fully awake, and can't help the grin that comes on his face when she starts the engine. "Nice." He nods, impressed again. Brandy runs her hands back and forth over the steering wheel for a moment, reveling in the familiar feeling of the leather seats, and the smell of old upholstery mixed with bourbon.

Her smile falters for a moment in the silence, before she slams her palm on the radio, static comes in at first, and she does it again, the old radio finally picking up a signal. Crosby, Stills, and Nash fills the truck cab. "Better." Brandy smiles, throwing the truck in reverse and backing up slightly before putting it in drive.

She floors it out of Bobby's yard, taking off down the gravel road and unrolling the windows.

"Think about how many times I have fallen!" She yells along, making Dean laugh, she just looks at him, rolling her eyes. "Spirits are using me, larger voices callin'!" Dean slings his arm out the window, looking up at the darkening sky and then to the singing girl beside him. "What Heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten!" Her hair wipes around her face, and Dean feels the truck go faster along the lonely road, her voice carrying outside. Her hand drums along the side of the truck, her head nodding along with the music, and Dean even joins in on the next line. Wondering how Bobby could have been concerned at all that this girl was a threat.

"I have been around the world!" She looks over at him, a smile taking over her face, and they both sing louder, more obnoxiously. "Lookin' for that woman girl! Who knows love can endure! And you know it will!"

Cool air fills the cab, signaling the approaching storm, but she doesn't care. "When you see the Southern Cross for the first time. You understand now why you came this way!" Dean looks over at Brandy, his eyes flickering to the metal chain hanging around her neck. She started wearing it a few weeks ago, though he's never seen what's on the end of it.

Dean looks behind the seat, seeing a folded up Army shirt that's stuffed between the seat back and the back of the cab. Brandy's voice stops singing as the song ends, though the smile remains. "God, I've missed this truck." She shakes her head, although in disbelief.

"She's nice." Dean comments, and leans forwards slightly, opening the glove compartment. "What's this?" He asks, taking out what appears to be a hex bag.

"Goofer dust," she explains, "Not that I had a chance or time to use it." Brandy feels a raindrop on her arm, and brings it inside, rolling up her window and Dean's. He jumps at the feeling of it suddenly coming up, and snaps his arm inside, she chuckles when he glares at her. He just grunts at her explanation for the goofer dust, accepting it. In a matter of seconds, the light drizzle turns into a full-scale downpour. "Aw fuck." Brandy swears, slowing down the truck and pulling over off the road a ways, not being able to see further than two feet ahead out the window.

"Better than being stuck with Sam and Bobby." Dean says, and she chuckles nodding.

"Definitely." She agrees, unbuckling her seatbelt, her feet resting on top of the dashboard as she leans back further into the old leather seats.

"So," Dean starts. "How'd you get the truck?"

"She was my dad's. I was only four when he bought'er." She ran a hand over the steering wheel, her smile growing, "She became mine once I turned eighteen."

"Nice." She suddenly grinned wider, reaching underneath the seat and pulling out a bottle of Kentucky bourbon. "You just keep that there?"

"I hid it here from you, but now, we can pass the time," She grins, opening the bottle and taking a swig before holding it out towards Dean. He takes it from her, and she watches as he tips it back, the liquor running down his throat.

"Why would you hide it from me?" Dean asked after pulling the bottle away from his mouth. Brandy leaned over, closer to him, taking it out of his hand.

"Because you'd drink it all, and I wanted some."

"Glad to know you have such high expectations of me." He joked as she drank again.

"Very high expectations." She said softly, and a corner of Dean's mouth rose in a smirk. She tipped the bottle back, causing the smirk to fade.

"Hey! Not fair." He grabbed it out of her hand, making a face at her as she tried unsuccessfully to swipe it back. Her shirt drifted up slightly as she leaned forward, and Dean's eye caught the black ink that was tattooed on her body. "Nice tat." He commented, still holding the bourbon out of her reach. "What's it say?"

"Only special people get to know." She shot back, a smile playing on her lips.

"Aw come on, I'm special." She raised a defiant eyebrow at him. "Besides, it can't be bad. All tattoos are sexy."

"Really?"

"Really." Dean took another sip from the bottle, and she pulled it away from him, causing some of it to spill onto the front of his shirt.

"Whoops." She said, not sorry at all, leaning towards the opposite side of the truck as she drank. The window pane was cool against the back of her neck, and they could both had to talk a little louder as the rain pelted against the truck.

"Come on," Dean pleaded, his mind starting to feel just a little fuzzy. "I have one."

"I have two, I used to have-" She stopped to think for a moment, "twenty-three." Dean just let out a low whistle.

* * *

They had finished the bottle ten minutes later, and resorted to just sitting out the storm. It was getting progressively worse, lightning streaking across the sky and thunder practically shaking the ground. "So," Dean started, drawing her attention away from her lap, where she was twisting her fingers together, and to his face. "Sam read off your FBI listing the other day."

"Oh really?" She asked, "Was it fascinating?" her lips pulled up into a grin as Dean let out a snort.

"It was impressive. Make's you sound like how Bobby told you to be."

"How's that?" she asked, curious now of what the old hunter had told the brothers.

"Said you were unpredictable, not to be trusted, raised hard and disappeared after a visit almost a decade ago." Dean listed off and she nodded.

"I was raised like a soldier, a damn good one too. And I just worked my jobs, same as any other hunter."

"Not just any other hunter gets themselves into Hell." Dean points out, and her eyes narrow at him. She should have seen that one coming. She opens her mouth to retort, but is drowned out by a loud clap of thunder, she rolls her eyes, then repeats herself.

"I wouldn't be talkin' if I were you Winchester." Dean presses his lips together.

"I did it to save Sam, I got a good reason."

"Why I did it's my own damn business. I don't gotta be sharing and caring with you. _Definitely_ not _you_." She snapped and looked outside, wishing she could get out of here. She couldn't tell him that, not yet. Not ever, she corrected her thoughts.

Across from her, Dean's forehead wrinkled together, his eyebrows going up. He knew she was hiding something from all of them, he could see it, hell, anyone could see it. "Okay." He let the subject drop, and she was surprised, but kept the emotion off her face. Dean relaxed back into the upholstery. A tense silence filled the cab, only the sound of the pounding rain and occasional boom of thunder being heard.

Brandy couldn't even hear herself breathing. After about five minutes, and a rather large boom of thunder, Brandy rolled her head so she could see outside.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding." She swore when the lightning outside illuminated a figure just a few hundred yards away, standing in the midst of the storm. Dean's head snapped up, trying to see past the rain.

He sat up quickly as Brandy shoved the driver door open with a huff, sprinting out into the storm. "What the hell!?" he swore, opening his own door and immediately getting soaked to the bone. "Brandy!" He tried to yell above the storm, but it was useless. He started running, his boots sinking deep into the mud. He lost his footing a few times, but managed to stay on his feet.

His strides lengthened when he saw the figure she was running towards. It looked like a man, mostly dressed in black, his blonde hair plastered to his face. Brandy stopped a few feet away and Dean assumed they were speaking to each other.

"Hey!" he called out again, but got no recognition. A hundred yards away. Fifty yards away. Dean watched as Brandy nodded, and the man reached out to touch her forehead. "Brandy!" Dean screamed, pushing himself faster as she crumbled to the ground, the man who was there disappearing a moment later. His mind replayed her falling to the ground like a sack of wet cement. It was what someone looked like after they'd been shot down. After they'd been shot dead.

He reached her crumpled form in the next few seconds, gathering her wet face into his calloused hands as he felt his heartbeat rapidly increasing. "Brandy? Hey, come on now." he slapped the sides of her face gently, then shook her by the shoulders, her head falling limply. His hand dipped down to check her pulse, finding one only made him feel a little bit better. "Brandy, come on." He worked on picking her up, managing to lift her and get her in his arms. She was out cold.

On the inside, she was screaming in pain. The heat that entered her right when Balthazar touched her spreading throughout her entire body like a raging inferno. She couldn't move her body though, couldn't will herself to do anything. Brandy couldn't _feel_ anything. _It may hurt a bit_, Balthazar's words came back to her. This was more than 'a bit'. Though it was better than dying in just a few short weeks, better than the angel being tracked down and killed, then her other half being killed as well. So she said yes.

Dean rushed back to the truck, Brandy in his arms and he laid her down across the seat. He slid in after her, her head in his lap as he started the engine.

After a few unsuccessful efforts the truck was able to climb back on the road, and despite having to hang his head out the open window to see, Dean was able to drive. Water soaked both him and Brandy, and the leather interior of the beloved vehicle, but Dean figured saving her damn life would make up for the leather being damaged. He'd send Sam out to wipe it up later, Dean thought.

* * *

Dean made it back to Bobby's in less than ten minutes, sprinting inside and kicking the front door closed with his heel. "Bobby!" he called out, his voice echoing throughout the house. "Sam!" the note of panic in Dean's voice was apparent, and he quickly made his way to the living room.

Brandy had started convulsing just a few seconds before they reached Bobby's her arms and legs shaking, and steadily becoming more violent. It was growing hard to hold her in his arms. Dean laid her down on the couch, using his forearm to brace her shoulders down, his other hand trying to keep her head still. "Sam!" He heard pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs, "Sam hurry!"

"What in the –" Bobby cut off his sentence when he saw Dean holding Brandy down.

"I don't know!" he shouted answering the unfinished question, "Some bastard touched her and she just fell to the ground." Dean wiped his forehead on his shirtsleeve, trying to get his waterlogged hair out of his eyes.

"Help me hold her down Sam!" his younger brother nodded curtly, grabbing the girl's ankles and trying to hold them down as she kicked out.

"Dean, let her go." No one had heard Castiel enter the room, and all three men's heads snapped towards the angel's voice.

"Cas!"

"Let her _go_ Dean." Cas said sternly and Dean did as he was told, Sam following suit. Castiel was dressed in his usual slacks, trench coat, and tie, though an angel blade was held tightly in his right hand. Beside him stood a man Dean and Sam had never seen before.

He was dressed in all black, a silver chain around his neck. His blonde hair appeared slightly wet, and his blue eyes shined as he smirked. "Hello." He greeted everyone in the room, a Scottish accent thick in his voice. He wrung his hands together and Castiel shot him an annoyed glance, before introducing him to the group in his usual deep, gruff voice.

"Dean. This is Balthazar."

* * *

**A lot is going to be revealed about Brandy in the next chapter, though I may throw in a flashback chapter before then! Thanks to all who have reviewed, favorited, and followed! All comments are 100% welcomed, as are questions!**


	10. Chapter 8

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed! It really means a lot to me! I love reading all of your comments!**

**disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural**

* * *

_Chapter Eight_

* * *

**June 1998, Route 115, Harrisburg, South Dakota.**

* * *

Two teenagers occupied the front seats of the black 1979 Chevy Silverado as it barreled down the empty two-lane blacktop. Radio blasting, Michael Jackson's voice filled the whole vehicle, and the older of the two kept beat with her hands tapping roughly against the leather steering wheel.

"People always told me, be careful what ya do!" she sang along, her younger brother nodding along. The girl swayed to the side. "She says I am the one!" her brother let out a laugh at her. His dark hair hung slightly over his eyes, and he knew their father would make him get a haircut once they met up with him again.

But right now, the youngest two of the McDowell family were on their own solo hunt. Though, at the moment, they were on their way to Bobby Singers' house in Sioux Falls. They had managed to track down what they thought was a shapeshifter, though silver had done no good on the thing, so they were at a loss.

For the first time in a while, the two were happy. Brandy had just 'left' jail two weeks prior, and gotten a new tattoo sleeve on her right arm that went from her wrist up to her elbow. _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_. The words were done in an elegant script up her arm, in black, surrounded by coiled lines and shapes. It was hard to see the natural color of her tan skin between all of the ink.

She had met up with her father and brother just a hundred miles south of the Hillsborough County Complex where she had been held for armed theft and impersonating a federal official charges for a week. She should've known better, she did look older than her current age of nineteen, albeit not by that much.

It had taken some convincing, but her younger brother Trevor had managed to persuade their father into letting them take down, what had appeared to be, a simple shapeshifter on their own. Their father had a soft spot for his son, more so than for his eldest child. Trevor and Brandy were more of the same though, both the 'shoot first ask questions later' type, though Brandy was more of a natural leader who demanded her orders be followed.

Trevor's brown eyes glanced over at his sister, and he smirked, knowing how to rile her up, "We wouldn't be all the way out here if you hadn't broken that piece of junk." He accused.

"That 'piece of junk' was the one laptop we had." She pointed out, "and I didn't break it." She defended herself, and glanced down at the floorboard where the broken electronic was now sitting. It probably could be easily fixed, all that had happened was that it had fallen off of the motel bed and onto the floor, the screen freezing up, but neither of the McDowell children knew how to fix a computer.

"It bounced off the bed when you sat down." Trevor interjected when she opened her mouth to defend herself further, wanting to point out that Singer Salvage Yard was only eight hours away, which she made in six. "If you weren't so fat it wouldn't have happened."

"Shut up." She snapped, running a tan hand through her long wavy hair. "If anyone in this truck is fat, it's definitely you." They zoomed past an older Chevy Impala going the other way on the road, and Trevor turned in his seat so he could watch it longer.

"That's a _nice_ car." He admired it, a smile spreading across his face.

"And this is an _awesome_ truck." Brandy defended, patting her truck. "She hides a whole arsenal right in the back, don't cha babe?"

"The relationship you have with this truck is both unnerving and unhealthy."

"You're just jealous." She smirked.

"Yeah," he deadpanned. "I'm jealous that my bat-shit crazy sister loves her truck more than she loves me."

"I'm not bat-shit crazy." She snapped.

"Naw, I am too, so it's fine. So is Dad." She nodded, agreeing with him for once, and turned the truck down another dirt road off the main one they had been on for the past fifty minutes.

* * *

**Singer Salvage Yard.**

* * *

Brandy clenched her hand into a fist before pounding on Bobby Singer's front door. A few yards away, Trevor admired one of the old, beat up cars that had recently been brought into the yard. He was already thinking of how to fix it up and how nice it'd be. "Bobby!" Brandy called out, continuing to pound the door.

"All right I'm comin' ya idjit!" She heard his gruff voice from inside.

"Yo, Trev!" she called out and her brother turned, she waved him over as Bobby opened the front door. The older hunter looked exactly as she remembered him, and exactly as he would ten years later. Hair gray, ball cap in place atop his head, and flannel shirt and jeans completing the typical 'bobby singer' look.

"Brandy?" Bobby asked in disbelief. He hadn't seen the girl in almost two years. Bobby lifted the baseball cap on his head up slightly so he could see better. "Trevor?" he asked as the boy came up the steps, his hands wiping dirt off of his old brown button up shirt.

"Hey Bobby," the seventeen year old grinned at the older man.

"What're you two kids doing here? Where's your daddy?"

"Great to see you too!" Brandy said, her voice full of sarcasm. "Aren't cha gunna invite us in, then I'll fill ya in on what's trending in the life of the McDowells?" she asked.

"That ain't no way to talk to your elders girl." Bobby reprimanded, having forgotten about how Stewart McDowell had raised his children, or lack of raising.

"You're not an elder Bobby," Trevor cut in, "You're way too young still." Bobby rolled his eyes, moving aside though and gesturing for them to come in. The front door slammed slightly behind them, and the three made their way into the living room, Brandy plopping down in one of the chairs, Trevor taking up the couch.

"Make yourselves at home." Bobby whispered under his breath sarcastically. He sat behind his desk, then looked at both kids. He eyed the tattoos covering the girl's arm. Her fitted t-shirt came down in the neckline, and he could see more ink from there as well. "So, where's your daddy?"

"Off working some gig in Nevada. We're on our own show." Brandy explained.

"She broke the laptop since she's so fat and we had no way of doing research." Trevor piped up from his spot, his response making Brandy flip him off.

"Bitch." She snapped at him.

"Okay, enough." Bobby rolled his eyes. They're almost worse than Sam and Dean, he thought, shaking his head slightly. "Why in the hell did Stewart let you two hunt solo?" he asked incredulously.

"Bobby." Brandy soothed, "I'm nineteen."

"That's my point!" The older hunter exclaimed, and both kids shrugged. "Okay, what're you two huntin'."

"We thought it was a shapeshifter." Trevor explained.

"But silver did jack squat against it, and we couldn't find anything in any damn book that matched what we're facing." She picked up the explanation, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger. "

"Not a ghoul, not a shapeshifter, not a skinwalker." Trevor listed off the creatures they had thought it could've been.

"Rakshasa?" Bobby asked.

"No, it doesn't go invisible." Brandy huffed.

"Siren?"

"It's just killing it's victims, no seduction or attraction of any kind. It's only killed two people, ripped them to shreds really, in the past month." Trevor told the older man, who scratched his chin. "It appears as this fucking giant dog and a human too."

"Huh," Bobby made the chair turn around, leafing through some books behind them before pulling four out. He tossed one to Brandy and it landed her chest. A few choice words came out of her mouth, but she shut up when she saw the look Bobby was sending her. He threw another book at Trevor, who caught it and read the cover, his eyebrows creasing together. "Get readin'." Bobby told them, opening one of the books himself.

Both kids let out a groan, research not being their strong suit, but opened the first pages of the books they had been given regardless.

* * *

Changeling, Crocotta, Hellspawn, Dragon, Familiars, Angiak.

All of them were ruled out as what they could possibly be dealing with in a span of twenty hours. Every book was scoured through, and finally the three just didn't have much of anything.

"I don't know kid." Bobby sighed, "I'd call up your daddy, get'em to come help ya."

"No." Brandy said right away, "We can handle it, we'll just, try again." She rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes, having only gotten a few hours of sleep. Trevor was asleep on the couch, arm thrown over his chest as he snored softly.

"And what if you try wrong and just piss it off?" She shrugged, "From what ya told me," Bobby sighed, "Go with the flare gun first. If it doesn't kill'em, it'll slow'em down."

"Okay, thanks Bobby, really." Brandy said genuinely. She stood up, stretching her arms over her head.

"You ain't leaving now." Bobby told her as she made her way over to Trevor, shaking his shoulder slightly while whispering in his ear. The boy shot up, wide awake instantly.

"We are." Brandy told Bobby, "Put the books back, then meet me at the truck Trevor." She told her brother, he nodded, yawning, tired again after his mind caught up that he wasn't in danger.

"Get some rest." Bobby told them both, but Brandy shook her head.

"We gotta hit the road, get outta Dodge, thanks again though." Bobby sighed, seeing he wasn't going to win this fight, and too tired to push it much further. He watched as Trevor wordlessly put the books back where he had taken them from.

"Don't be a stranger, ya hear?" Bobby told Brandy as she made her way towards the front door.

"Sure thing." She grinned slightly, giving him a quick salute, before making her way towards her truck. Trevor appeared shortly after, stopping to say goodbye and shake Bobby's hand before jogging down the porch steps and over to the truck. Brandy had started it and was waiting to pull out. Trevor opened the passenger door, looking back to send Bobby one last wave as the older hunter watched from his front porch, before closing the door and the truck made it's way out of the yard.

Bobby didn't know it at the time, but that was the last time he'd see Trevor, and he wouldn't see Brandy again for another ten years.

* * *

**Akron, Colorado.**

* * *

The run down barn looked as though it would cave in at any moment. The windows had all been boarded shut ages ago, and the only way a person could tell the building used to be white was from the small amounts of paint that hadn't been chipped away yet on the outside.

It still smelled of musky old hay, with the stench of cow manure still lingering after fifteen years of the last cow leaving the place.

Though it was also home base for whatever creature the McDowell's were hunting. Brandy glanced back at Trevor as they approached, "I'll go round back, you stay here and wait a few minutes before coming in front." She told him quietly, flare gun in hand, and she pulled her leather jacket around her tighter, trying not to freeze in the night air.

"Got it." He told her, all joking between them aside. "Be careful." He warned, and she flashed him a smile.

"Always am." With that, she took off on silent steps around the back of the barn, checking subconsciously to make sure the gun was loaded.

Around back, the doorway was blocked partially, though propped open, by a rusty old tractor. Brandy stayed in the shadows, and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darker area. Moonlight streamed in through the windows on the second story of the barn, illuminating an open area right in the middle of the building.

Once she could see, Brandy made her way slowly inside, her senses on high alert as she made her way from the back alongside the row of fetid stalls. She neared the front entrance, stopping mid-step when she heard the sound of paws above her. She glanced overhead, a pit of dread seeming to appear in her gut when she didn't hear anything more.

The sound of the front barn door being eased open made her gaze snap to the front of the building, and she started making her way closer there again to meet up with her younger brother.

She could just make out the outline of Trevor's body as he crept inside. Brandy struggled to hear any more sounds, but heard nothing, not even crickets from outside. She flicked the gun's safety off, resting her finger on the trigger.

She barely had time to react when a loud thump suddenly sounded from the other end of the barn. Her brother turned, seeing a dark object and immediately firing off his gun. Brandy cursed as she watched him miss, just seeing a large tail dart behind debris. Growls sounded from the area, a deep bark following.

"Trevor!" Brandy snapped, her brother's face snapping to her and her eyes widened as she saw the figure. She shot instantly, years of training telling her it was the right thing to do.

Though she missed the target, which had turned suddenly. Brandy threw down the gun, and watched as a large dog appeared in the center of the barn, his eyes trained on Trevor, hackles raised. It's ears were pinned back against it's head, and her brother didn't move, not knowing what exactly to do.

"Run!" Brandy screamed at him as the beast kept approaching him. Trevor's back hit a wall, and Brandy started sprinting towards him.

The creature leapt up to attack Trevor just as she threw her body at it, tackling the creature to the ground. Bits of gravel and dirt imbedded into her skin as she hit the ground, rolling and locking her arms around the massive dog. Her head slammed against a broken crate, and she felt the dog struggling to get out of her grip.

"Brandy!" Trevor's voice distracted her for a split second, and then her scream pierced the air as the dog bit down into her neck, his claws digging into her arms as well, tearing the skin. Her eyes widened, her vision going blurry as her throat choked up and her whole body went rigid. She felt as though something was entering her bloodstream, and a moment later she felt her body hit the ground as the dog let go.

She doesn't see the dog hit the ground, dead, after Trevor managed to drive a bamboo stake through it's heart while it was distracted. That had been their second option to try and take it down.

Brandy can't see much, only a blurry outline of her brother as he tries desperately to shake her awake. She feels like her insides have been set on fire, and registers the feeling of her brother pressing his hands over the gaping wound in her neck.

She can't hear the frantic phone call he makes to their dad, or feel him struggle to lift her up and carry her motionless body to the truck. She doesn't feel anything when he presses bandages to her wound, working frantically to stop the bleeding. She doesn't hear the sirens of the ambulance. Her brother half-lying to the paramedics, saying she was attacked by a dog. She doesn't hear the air-evacuation helicopter they have to bring in for her. She doesn't feel them lift her up onto the spine board. Or being lifted into the helicopter.

She doesn't remember the trip to the hospital, the doctors and nurses frantically working to stop the bleeding. She doesn't remember the emergency surgery to stitch her neck back together. She doesn't know that her brother refused blood tests to be taken on her, just in case something came back they couldn't explain. She doesn't remember her father arriving, sprinting into the hospital and demanding he be taken to his daughter.

She just remembers the pain. And the fire that seemed to run through her veins.


	11. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

* * *

**November: Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

It took almost an hour for Castiel to explain who Balthazar was to Dean, Sam, and Bobby; and the role the angel played in the situation they had found themselves in. Most emphasis was put on how Balthazar had gone against orders, raising Brandy from Hell, just because he wanted to.

It was explained to the hunters that there was a strict rule _not _to bring Brandy back from the Pit. She was to stay there for the rest of eternity; her deal was one that had been planned out from the beginning. From the moment she had been conceived.

Brandy McDowell was never supposed to exist.

Castiel would not tell them why, that was highly confidential information that he didn't know the answer to himself. Neither did Balthazar, claiming he only raised her up because he liked her attitude. She had spunk, and a passion for hunting that he hadn't seen in anyone else for a long time.

It was Bobby who brought up the fact that they didn't know what was happening to Brandy at the moment, who was still passed out cold on the couch, her body occasionally convulsing for a few moments before going still. Whenever it started to happen, Dean would grab a hold of her hand, holding it tightly in his own until she stopped again.

He never once left his place by her side during Cas's explanation.

"She was not a human." Castiel had explained to them all, nodding towards the unconscious woman. "That is why she sold her soul, to become one again."

"What was she before?" Sam had asked carefully, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.

"A nagual." Balthazar told them as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, earning a glare from Dean, his green eyes narrowing at the black-clad angel.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked, his words coming out sharper than he expected them too.

"I thought all those suckers went extinct ages ago." Bobby commented, taking a swig from a bottle of beer as he leaned against the doorframe to his study.

"Not extinct." Castiel corrected, looking at Bobby briefly, his hand still holding the angel blade. "Just critically endangered."

"So what is it?" Dean rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forwards as if to hear the angel more clearly.

"A subspecies originating from the skin-walker and werewolf families. A person is infected by venom, which only males of the species carry. If they survive the transformation, they mutate. Usually to be picked up by whoever turned them and joining their pack." Dean's eyebrows rose as he heard more, while Sam's lips pursed together.

"She's in a freakin' pack?" was Dean's reaction.

"No," Balthazar cut in, "her brother killed the one who turned her, they were hunting it down. Sometimes they kill humans, though they can survive on a strictly human-like diet."

Over in the doorway, Bobby's face had paled. "When, when was she-" he trailed off.

"Turned?" Castiel asked, his gaze snapping over to the older hunter, and Bobby just nodded slowly. "In June of 1988."

"Damn it!" Bobby swore, pounding a fist on the doorway.

"She was here!" he exclaimed his hands gesturing around himself at the house, "She and her kid brother showed up here askin' bout shapeshifters, they didn't know what they it was they were huntin'. Couldn't figure it out and I let'em go back out at it. Told'em fire and, and," he stopped his rambling, shaking his head, "it don't matter no more. I never saw'em after that."

"Bobby it's not your fault." Sam tossed his now empty beer bottle into the garbage.

"What's she change into?" Dean asked aloud, letting Brandy's hand slip from his own, clasping his hands in front of himself.

"A giant dog." Balthazar smirked, "Not giant exactly, more the size of a German shepherd."

"She hasn't done that since I've been with her."

"That's because she didn't have her doggy half." Balthazar quipped back at Dean. He went on to explain how he had held that half back, her not wanting it since she had sold her soul to get rid of it. According to him, and some help from Castiel, that half held some of the traits she was notorious for before she went to Hell. Irritability, determination, courage. All of those had increased after she was turned, and stayed even after selling her soul. Though on the way out, the mask that had been put over it wasn't able to stay.

It could be tracked, and for his own safety, Balthazar had to get rid of it quickly. The only way being to give it back to Brandy. Now all there was to do was wait.

* * *

Two hours after Dean had brought her back, and all of the men were gathered in the small kitchen. Balthazar sat in a chair, Castiel standing behind him, angel blade still in hand. Dean, Sam, and Bobby all leaned against the counter, sipping from their beers and watching the clock. Conversation drifted between the five periodically, though it usually ended with someone getting pissed at somebody else, threatening them, and then Bobby ordering everyone be quiet.

Balthazar wasn't allowed to leave Castiel's sight since he was a major part of this, though the Scottish angel didn't seem to mind too much, only complaining that 'Cassie's always had a stick up his ass'. Cas's genius retort, of course, was to say he had never done such a thing to himself.

They didn't hear her get up, or have any inclination she was even awake. Brandy just appeared in the doorway, a smirk on her face. Her brown eyes appeared as though the iris's themselves were darker, a thin ring of silver around them as well. They shone in a way Dean had never seen before; he could tell right away she was different. She was standing taller, straighter, though her eyes still glanced around the room, searching it for any threats the way they always had.

"Who's the party for?" She asked sarcastically, stopping in the doorway, looking over at Dean when she spoke, directing the question at him.

"You princess." He couldn't help himself returning her grin. Sometime in the past three months, she had become one of the closest friends he had ever had. And Dean? He was the closest friend Brandy had at the moment.

She rolled her eyes, letting out a long sigh as she faced the angels. "Look, douchebag one and douchebag two." Castiel narrowed his eyes at her while Balthazar chuckled.

"You owe us your life. I would show a little respect if I were you." Castiel's voice was low as he walked towards her, Brandy walked towards him as well, meeting him in the middle of the kitchen, all eyes on them.

"Are you threatening me?" she asked with a soft laugh, her eyebrows rising on her face. "Cause it's not really workin'." In the next moment she was pinned to the wall with a resounding smack of her body hitting the wall echoing through the house. She let out a laugh as Dean jumped forwards, stopping when Sam caught his older brother's arm.

"I can send you right back to Hell." Cas told her, his face inches from hers, and she wondered if he knew about the whole personal space concept. "You belong there." Her expression turned into an impermeable mask that no one, not even Dean, could read then.

"Want me to tell you all my sins so you and your friends can sharpen your knives for me Castiel?" She asked him, her voice lacking emotion. "I don't really know, but that sounds a lot like what demons would do to me." Cas dropped her at her words, taking a few steps back. She took two forwards, just to get away from the wall.

"You owe us your life." He informed her again, his shoulders tense.

"I don't owe jack squat to people I don't believe in. And I don't believe in your damnned Church." She crossed her arms over his chest, her eyes shining.

"You should believe. Of all people, you should." Castiel looked away, still speaking, but looking at a random spot on the wall.

"I was born into a sick life that I love." She told him, bringing his focus back to her. "Amen." She spat the word out at him, like it was a disgusting piece of trash, and Sam saw Cas's knuckles go white on the angel blade. "Take me to church Cas, and I'll worship like the dog you see me as. Good God," she shook her head as she rolled her eyes as she said the Lord's name, mock bowing to him, her arms outstretched, "Let me give you my life." As she bent down, Dean saw a glint of something silver at the end of her necklace catch in the light, though it was only for a moment, and he couldn't tell what it had been.

"You do understand that I could kill you at any moment." Castiel pointed out and she smirked, standing up fully again, though Dean noticed her eyes dart down to the blade for a moment.

"I'm done talking to you." She told him sharply, the finality in her voice clear to everyone. "Why is he here?" her head tilted towards Balthazar.

"Says he's the one who raised ya." Bobby supplies.

"He is." She mouth fell open slightly and her lips pursed together. "Oh." She remembers how he went against orders, "I see."

"What now?" Dean asked gruffly, Sam lets go of his arm, and Dean crosses them in front of his chest.

"We cannot leave her with you and Sam." Castiel tells them all, "She is not safe."

"She hasn't hurt me, and as far as I can see, she's still sane." Dean counters.

"Look, Cas," Sam begins, the angel glaring at him, Sam puts a hand up as though to calm him down. "I think we're all good here."

"I can help." She speaks up, though she looks completely bored as she stands in the middle of Bobby's kitchen. "With this apocalypse crap."

"How're you gunna help?" Bobby stands up from leaning in the doorway, adjusting his hat.

"She's the best hunter in the world, and I've practically given her to you idiots." Balthazar told them, "And she wants to help you, I suggest you let her."

Hours later, the angels had left, and the boys had all gone to sleep, Brandy sat alone downstairs. In her hand, she held the silver ring that belonged to Dean, twisting it around, over and over again as she thought. She could feel the other part of her that was back, she felt whole again. Her mind raced over the past months' events, and she felt the fierce loyalty and respect she now had for Dean in her heart. She trusted him, which wasn't a good thing, but she did regardless.

She considered herself and Sam as friends. They got along, but mostly talked business. She glanced out the window, looking out at the stars over the salvage yard. Watching them, she knew what she had to do.

Upstairs, Dean woke up briefly to what he thought was the sound of an engine starting. He dismissed it, thinking everyone was inside, and went back to sleep.

When he went downstairs that morning, Brandy was gone, and on the couch was a note addressed to him written in Brandy's sloppy handwriting.

_Call if you need help, I can be anywhere within ten hours. Try not to get yourself killed. –B_

On top of the note, were her dog tags that hung in the truck.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Please feel free to review, favorite, and follow they all mean a lot to me! Next chapter should be up soon hopefully before I'm off to New York for the weekend!**


	12. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten_

* * *

**Late November: Louise, Mississippi**

* * *

She hates to admit that she misses Dean Winchester. But she does, and it only takes three weeks for Brandy to realize it. She does nothing about it, doesn't pick up a phone to call, doesn't send a text, she doesn't try to find him.

Brandy just keeps hunting.

In the first week, she takes on a case that ends up being a Rugarou and ganks it within two days. Next is a kitsune, and Brandy ends up stitching up her whole right side by herself in her motel room the night she ends the bitch. After that, she picks a simple case, a simple salt and burn that only takes her three days to figure out and complete.

Throughout the whole time she hears of what the Winchesters are up to. Spending most nights in bars where other hunters come in, she overhears it through the grape vine.

They take out one of the four horsemen, War, with the help of Ellen and Jo Harvelle. Hearing the name of her old friend makes Brandy call up Joanna Beth, surprised when Jo already knows she's back from the Pit.

"Dean told me." She tells Brandy over the phone, while the older of the two women lies on her bed, spreading Bacitracin over her newest tattoo.

Brandy had met the Harvelles years back, when Mr. Harvelle was still alive even. After his death, she remained close to Ellen and Jo; Ellen practically serving as a second mother to her and Trevor. Always welcoming them into the Roadhouse for a night's rest or a home cooked meal. She and Jo got along well enough, though Jo always held a grudge that Brandy got to hunt on her own.

Jo and Ellen were just two of the selected few Brandy kept in touch with after the attack that changed her.

"Really?" Brandy asks, exasperated, "Dude sure knows how to ruin a surprise."

"I noticed the dog tags he was wearing. Told us all about how he picked you up. Mom's pretty pissed at ya. By the way." Brandy rolled her eyes at Jo's words, but was surprised Dean had her dog tags still. Even more so that he actually was wearing them.

She still wore his ring around her neck.

"You tell Ellen I'll drop by wherever if you tell me where to be." She promises, looking down at the artwork now dawned on her body. The dragon covers most of her shoulder, curling around itself and smoke coming out from his nostrils. It had taken almost three hours to do, but she's happy with the end product.

"I'll be sure to mention it." Jo's voice travels from the other end of the call, and Brandy can tell she's outside. Most likely of a motel room since the Roadhouse burnt down years ago.

It's also Jo who breaks the news to Brandy that Bobby has ended up in a wheelchair. "Did it trying not to hurt Dean." She tells her, and Brandy lets out a breath.

"Of course, he'd never do anything to hurt those boys."

"I know it." Jo lets out a sigh, "Everyone knows it." Brandy nods her head.

"Yeah." She says softly, once there's a pause and she remembers to say something. When Jo asks how Brandy's coping, that's when Brandy ends their conversation, saying it's not something she wants to talk about. Let alone over a telephone call.

Throughout the past few weeks, by starting up hunting again and not being so inclined to stay off the grid, more hunters are becoming aware that Brandy McDowell is back. The first few bars she comes into, some stop and stare openly, in response to it, she simply takes out her silver knife, and cuts a thin line on her arm. Providing the answer to the question on all of their minds.

Is it really her?

She only has to do it a few times, and get splashed with holy water on a handful of occasions. Those who did that though, they didn't leave with all their bones straight. She was known for her temper, and that sure as hell didn't go away at all.

Some hunters sit next to her at bars, giving her condolences she doesn't want to hear, or just talking about recent hunts they've been on.

She brings in money by hustling pool, gambling on cards, and playing other various bar games. But in all of it, it still isn't the same without having Dean by her side.

* * *

**Chatfield, Minnesota**

* * *

"You haven't seen it anywhere?" Dean asks Sam for what the younger Winchester feels like is the millionth time.

"No Dean!" Sam snaps from where he sits in front of his laptop. He glances over at his older brother, who is on his back on his bed, fingering Brandy's dog tags in his hands. "If I had your ring I would've given it to you as soon as you got back."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean sighs, raising his head off the pillows to look at Sam, "It's just, it was Mom's."

"I know." Sam looks over his laptop at Dean, "I'm sure you dropped it in the Impala somewhere, we'll find it."

Dean huffs, glancing down again at the flat pieces of metal in his hands. "You could help." Sam points out.

"You do the research Sammy, use those college kid skills." Dean doesn't even look up when he speaks, and can practically feel Sam's eye roll.

It had been a week since they took out War, two since the accident with Bobby. Now, the boys were just working a regular case. What had looked like their kinda gig was looking more and more like just a real wild animal attack.

"You could call." Dean looks up at Sam this time, who is watching Dean play with the dog tags around his neck. "I'm sure she'd pick up."

"Why would I call her?" Dean asks.

"Dean, you miss her, I can see it." Dean scoffs.

"I don't miss her, she's just a regular chick."

"That you hunted with for three months, were with in Hell, and turned into a dog." Sam lets out a small chuckle, "Yeah Dean, that sure is regular."

"Look man, I don't miss her!" he insists, getting up from his bed and walking over to his leather jacket. He shrugs it on, grabbing the keys to the Impala off the table beside where Sam sits. "I'm grabbing dinner if you're gunna start on this crap again." He says, walking out the door without another word to his brother.

Once outside, Dean digs his phone out of pocket for a moment, finding her name in his contacts before shoving the device back into his jeans.

* * *

**Early December: Trumann, Arkansas**

* * *

Paws fleetingly hit the cement as the dog sprints through the town's local park. She pushes herself faster, still being able to hear the sound of the police chasing after her. They cannot see her anymore, not since she shifted, but that won't stop them from pursuing. They got a clear view of her face, she knows she will be on almost every television in the country in a matter of minutes.

Brandy swivels her large, pointed ears backwards as she runs, taking two short strides before leaping over a chain-linked fence.

"She went this way!" An officer yells, while another calls in for backup on his radio.

She lets out a soft grunt as she hits the hard pavement again, but keeps running. Her long slender legs extend fully out in front of her as she goes, running faster than the average dog. The air feels cool against her black and fawn colored fur.

Brandy has only been in her other form a handful of times since she got changed back. But it's times like the present when she's thankful for it. She's a Belgian Malinois if anyone ever kept track of the breed of her dog form, and she was just happy she didn't end up being a poodle or something.

She slows down when she sees the trees thinning up ahead, and lights from a lamppost on the other side of a road. Flickering her ears backwards again, she decides it safe to shift back, and within moments, she's back in human form.

She doesn't know why, but the clothes she has on when she shifts always stay the same. She doesn't have to stop to pull the blue wash jeans, biker boots, and gray button down sweater on again. Brandy ran a hand through her hair, walking briskly across the street and wishing her truck wasn't so far away.

She made her way silently through the darkening town. It was getting closer to midnight now, so there were only a few people. She kept her head down, walking up to the windows of a local electronic store, where the televisions in the window had come to life.

_Breaking News _was up in bright, bold letters on all of the screens. Brandy watched as her mug shot from years before came up next, with a list of dangerous facts accompanying it.

Charged for first degree murder, arson, armed robbery, and impersonating federal officers. There was a reward up for anyone who could turn her into officials. Anyone who had any information on her whereabouts was encouraged to call their local police station.

She watched as new footage came up, showing the police surrounding her as she had been in the process of picking the lock into the house. Flashing lights illuminate her face on screen, and she smirks, holding up her hands as she's approached by police officers. She watches herself slowly lower her hand to the pistol held in place by the waistband of her jeans.

She knocks the first officer out cold easily, pistol wiping the other across the face before making a run for it down the road.

The public is warned that she is armed, and that she was believed to be dead up until now. Her mug shot is shown again, and they continue talking about her, but Brandy tunes it out, turning away and continuing through town.

She digs her phone out of her pocket, sending a text to a local hunter about the case she was on, explaining that she has to drop the gig before shoving her phone back into her jeans. She walks until she's at the edge of town, before glancing behind her and, seeing no one's around, shifting into her dog form.

Then she starts to run again.

* * *

**Denison, Iowa**

* * *

"Dean," Sam's voice was soft in disbelief as he stared at the crappy television from his spot lying on his bed.

"Hmmm." Dean hummed, still not awake with his face planted in the pillow.

"Look at the TV." Dean took a pillow, stuffing it over his head in protest. They had just gotten in a few hours earlier from a hunt they finished up in town. Needless to say Dean still wanted a few more hours of sleep. "Dude, seriously!" Sam snapped and Dean finally relented, looking up. His eyes widened as Sam turned up the volume.

"_If anyone spots Brandy McDowell, do not approach her directly, as she is known to be armed. Contact a local official immediately."_

Dean groaned at the newscasters voice. "Really?" He asked aloud, watching as her mug shot came up. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

"Hopefully." Sam agreed, "It's not every day it's another hunter wanted by the feds."

"Yeah, dude, it's usually us." Dean let out a chuckle, silently hoping she'd be fine.


	13. Chapter 11-Part 1

_Chapter Eleven-part one_

* * *

**Seymour, Iowa: Early December**

* * *

She pulled the baseball cap so it fit snugly on top of her head. She hated wearing them, but it had become a necessity last week since she was caught on camera. The news was alive and buzzing with the fact that Brandy McDowell was still alive and kickin'.

She was still pissed from having to track down Frank Deveroux. However, the man hadn't been exactly happy to see her face again either, seeing as last time they met they hadn't exactly departed on the best of terms. He had owed her a favor from years back though-her dad really, not her-and he had gotten her a whole new set of fake IDs and credit cards. Finding out where Frank was sitting at had been harder than finding a needle in a haystack, though she had managed to in only two days.

She was too good at disappearing herself for anyone to really go AWOL on her.

Brandy sighed, feeling the silver ring bounce against the hollow of her neck for a moment as she made her way down the stairs of the motel. She made her way out the door and towards her truck, which had gotten new plates itself in her disappearing act. It wasn't an antique car, or one that really stood out, like the Impala did, so she had gotten to keep it.

She flung her beat up duffle into the backseat, sliding into the driver's seat and starting the ignition. She didn't have anywhere particular to go, but she was tired off the small town she had been in for the past few days. It was time to move on, and she wondered briefly if she'd ever be able to settle down in the future.

It seemed like an insane idea to her most of the time; quitting hunting, settling down, living a safe life. It just wasn't how she was raised. To just wake up and not have anything to do, to stay in the same small town day in and day out, for years at a time.

The closest she had ever gotten to that was when her dad dumped her and Trevor at the Community a few times. Even then, the longest they'd ever stayed at one time was two months. Even when she was a baby; her mom and dad hunted still. They never had a real home to call their own.

Brandy didn't think she'd ever find anyone to settle down with anyways. She didn't want to be alone, but she was a freak. Always had been the weird girl with the guns, the girl with anger issues, the bitch. She had never really fit it, and now, she didn't believe anyone would deal with her baggage she brought back from Hell.

Not to mention the whole dog thing.

She cranked the music up louder, glancing up to where her dog tags had been as Eminem blasted out from the radio. She grinned, imagining Dean and Sam's reactions to her choice of music.

* * *

Brandy was woken up by the sound of her phone going off hours later.

She had parked on the side of some deserted road in Nebraska, reclined the seat back as far as it would go and settled in for the night. She ran a hand over her face in frustration, digging around for her phone before finding it and glaring at the name on the screen.

Jo.

"This better be important." Her voice was groggy from sleep and she shut her eyes tightly before opening them again, trying to wake herself up a little bit more.

"Come on, it's almost four in the morning." Jo sounded like she'd been awake for hours.

"Yah, I was driving till one. What'd ya want?"

"Well, Mom and I just got a call from Bobby and I knew you'd want in." Jo's words woke Brandy up a little bit more and she sat up straighter, bring the seat back up as well.

"What is it?"

"Winchesters' found the Colt." A grin spread across Brandy's face and she let out a small laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. She could hear the smile in Jo's voice as well. "And they need some help getting it."

"I'm in."

* * *

What should've been a seven hour drive to Bobby's took around five with the accelerator on the floor more than half the time. Windows down, music up to max volume, Brandy made a scene in every town she flew through. No one recognized her, but they did stop and stare.

Pulling into Singer Salvage Yard a few hours before noon; slinging her duffle bag across her shoulders, she strides across the wreckage filled yard and pounds a fist against the front door.

"What'er ya-" Bobby's mouth falls open, his sentence stopping before it even really began. "Brandy?" he asks, and she smiles down at the older hunter in his wheelchair. Bobby's wearing his classic look of worn out jeans, plaid button down shirt, raggedy vest, and his cap.

"Hey Bobby." She smirks, and he wheels himself backwards slightly, letting her inside. "Jo called me about the whole 'boys finding the Colt thing'."

"Of course she did." Brandy closes the door behind herself, and follows Bobby into the living room, tossing her bag down beside one of the couches and then falling onto one herself. "Dean know you're in on this?" he asks.

"How would I know? Haven't spoken to him in months." She asks, her legs hanging over the armrest. She tugs her arms out of her leather jacket, slinging it across the back of the couch.

"Since your whole disappear into the night stunt." Bobby states it as a fact they both know is true.

"Yeah." She confirms, then her expression softens. "How you doing?"

"Just peachy." Bobby replies sharply, his eyes narrowing. "I'm stuck doing jack squat here during the damn apocalypse."

"You do research," she points out, "better than anyone else I've ever met. You run those phones," she nods towards the rack of telephones all labeled with different organizations on the far wall outside the kitchen. "You're the ultimate walkin' talkin' resource of weirdness in the country, I think that's pretty fuckin' impressive."

"That your way of making me feel better?" Bobby asks, though his mouth twitches up in a small grin. In a strange, almost insulting way, she did make him feel just a tiny bit better. It reminded Bobby of how Dean blew up at him a few weeks back when Bobby had said he was better off dead.

"Sure is." She stretched her arms upwards, letting out a groan as her shoulder muscles extended. "So I'm the first one to this little shingding?"

"Guess so. Boys'll be here soon, Ellen and Jo by tonight." Bobby explained.

"Cool. Unconsciousness here I come." She was fast asleep within minutes.

* * *

Brandy woke up a few minutes before Sam and Dean's arrival. She was lounged sideways across one of the chairs in Bobby's study, his journal open in her lap when she heard the doorbell she had never bothered to use.

The book snapped closed, and she tossed it down on the table a few feet away before getting up and making her way over to the front of the house. Sam stood there, and looked up from talking to Bobby when she came into view.

"Brandy?" the younger of the brothers asked, a look of disbelief on his face, and she grinned.

"Hey Sam." She greeted him, taking a few steps closer before embracing him in a hug. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she had missed the giant of a man too in the previous months she had been on her own.

"How'd you even know to come?" he asked after pulling away.

"Jo called, filled me in on everything she knew early this morning." She explained, glancing around him quickly to look for Dean.

"He's getting bags outta the trunk." Sam noticed her glancing, and a corner of her lips pulled up into a grin. She clapped Sam on the shoulder before moving around his and standing on the porch.

She felt more complete the moment she saw him. She couldn't even see his whole face, just his silhouette. The emptiness inside she had felt since she floored it out of the salvage yard months ago seemingly gone just by seeing him again.

Brandy crossed her arms over her rugged beige American Eagle button up shirt. She leaned against one of the posts on the porch, watching him with a grin on her face.

Dean grabed his duffle and Sam's out of the Impala, holding both in one hand and slinging them across his back over his shoulder. With his free hand, he slams the trunk closed. His green eyes look up to see a familiar face grinning back at him, watching from Bobby's porch. His eyebrows go up as she unfolds her arms, making her way down the steps towards him.

"Hey stranger." She greets him, and Dean smiles. Her dog tags hang around his neck, and she glances at them briefly as she approaches.

It had taken a lot of thinking time on Dean's behalf for him to decide what he thought of her now. He had told himself to be wary, not to trust her fully, though at the sight of her, all he told himself, all the resolve seemingly goes out the window.

"Hey." Dean greets her back, holding out his free arm to embrace her in a one armed hug. They hold on to each other for a few moments, each feeling more complete now that the other is there again. When they pull away, Dean presses a kiss to her hair softly. "Jo call you?" he guesses and Brandy nods.

Dean looks her over quickly, noticing the new tattoos, cuts, and scars along her exposed skin.

"Early this morning. Going on bout how you guys know where the Colt is."

"Sure do." Dean smirks and she laughs as they make their way inside. Sam sits in the study, playing catch up with Bobby.

Dean drops the bags by the front door before following Brandy into the kitchen. She tosses him a beer from the refrigerator and sits down at the small, fold out table. Dean sits wordlessly across from her, and she skillfully opens her beer on the edge of the table, the cap snapping off quickly. "So," she starts, as Dean copies her movements, opening his drink as well, "you never called."

"Neither did you." Dean shoots back, taking a sip from his beer.

"I had to get back in the swing of things."

"Right, that whole…dog thing." He says it awkwardly, and she just laughs shortly at him.

"Ya," they both feel awkward bringing it up, and she just shrugs, "so the Colt." She changes the subject, not wanting to get into the topic of her transformation with Dean just yet.

* * *

As it turns out, bringing the Winchesters, Harvelles, and Brandy all together doesn't make for the most peaceful evening. Not for Bobby and Ellen at least. Add Castiel into the mix, and it was like a rodeo.

Dean had been the one to come up with the most logical plan for retrieving the Colt from Crowley. Castiel had tracked him down earlier in the day, before the Harvelles arrived at Bobby's, and found out the location of Crowley's home; where the Colt was currently.

"What'd you mean I can't be front line?!" Brandy snaps at Dean, her hand slamming down on the tabletop.

"Your face is all over the freakin' news!" Dean snaps back at her, and Brandy's eyes swing to Jo, whose lips purse together.

"She's going in by herself then?" Brandy asks incredulously, a hand lifting up to motion at the other girl.

"Jo'll have her gun on her. Her face hasn't been seen on every television screen in the whole damn country in the last week! I've seen so much of you, any damn demon will know who you are!"

"He has a point Brandy." Sam tries to help Dean, but only gets flipped off in response.

"Bullshit!" Brandy snaps. A moment later, Ellen smacks her upside the head with one of Bobby's frying pans.

"You listen here girl." Ellen fumes as Brandy rubs the back of her head, her eyes clenched shut, as she hisses in pain. "Dean's plan may not be the most ingenious one, but it's got a shot in workin'. You'll stay behind because that's the safest option we've got."

"You can help Bobby with research." Jo pipes up from her spot leaning against the desk. Brandy glares at her, and Jo raises her hands. "Hey, you may not like it, but it's helpful at least."

"How bout I drive the car, Ellen stays here." she offers.

"Like hell we're sending all of you idjits out alone for this." Bobby shoots down her idea right away. "If you've got anything better, feel free to share with the class."

She lets out a huff, pushing herself down off her seat on counter and striding out of the room, a hand coming up to the backside of her head absently. "That girl hasn't changed a bit." Ellen says, shaking her head after Brandy's left the room and they can all hear her make her way up the stairs.

"She'll come around." Dean says, sure of it as his eyes finally pull away from where she went. "Give'er an hour or two."

After everyone's gone to bed, Brandy still hasn't come out of the room she's staying in. Dean steps out of the bathroom, wearing a fresh pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, towel drying his short hair as he makes his way down the hall towards the stairs. With Ellen and Jo both here, he got booted out of his normal bedroom to the couch.

He notices the light coming out from underneath the doorway to Brandy's room, and he pauses. Dean pushes the door open slightly, it creeks a bit as it opens, and he sees her lying on the bed, her notebook in front of her.

The new dragon tattoo that covers most of her shoulder contrasts starkly against her tan skin. It holds Dean's attention for a few moments, before his green eyes flicker back to her face.

"Brand?" he calls her name out, using the nickname he had given her during their time together, and she looks up quickly, their eyes locking. He doesn't wait for an invitation, just slips inside and closes the door behind him, tossing the towel on the back of one of the old chairs in the room.

"What?" she asks, and Dean's eyebrows go up at the note of hostility in her voice. She frowns, then looks away, "Sorry."

"No, don't be. It's funny when you're pissed." She looks up to send him a glare, and Dean smirks, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"How've you been?" she asks him, closing the notebook.

"Fine." His answer is short, and she knows he's lying. No hunter is ever fine. "You?"

"Good." She lies back to him, even though they both know the truth. "We gotta talk about it." Bringing up the obvious makes Dean's mouth skew in annoyance and he lets out an indignant huff.

"We don't really have to."

"I want to."

"Well don't." His voice is sharp, and her eyes narrow, creases appearing on her face. "There's no reason to. I know you're not dangerous, no matter what you are. You won't kill innocent people at least." He laughs a short laugh, devoid of any humor. "You do I'll be the one hunting down your ass."

"I won't let you just ignore it." She sits up on the bed, pushing her long, brown hair behind her ears so she can see him better.

"Why the hell not?" Dean's jaw clenches in frustration and she just grins. She studies his face. The angular jawline, the defined features, his piercing eyes.

"Because I care about you." Her words make Dean look at her, "I actually give a shit about if you live or die. I don't want you ignoring who I really am."

"Fine." He gives in. "Who are you really?"

"Same girl you picked up on the side of the road." She tells him.

"That's not-" but Brandy cuts Dean off.

"Exactly. I may act differently sometimes. But really, I'm the same." She grins again, lying down and rolling on her side. "Goodnight, Dean."

"We were in the middle of a conversation." He points out, confused.

"Really? Cause I was at the end." She says back, not lifting her head to look back at him as she speaks.

;;::;;

**Hope you all enjoyed that chapter! There will either be two or three parts to chapter eleven, I haven't decided yet! All reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated!**


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